ELSIE'S 
WIDOWHOOD 

A  SEQUEL  TO 

"  ELSIE'S  CHILDREN  " 

BY 

MARTHA  FINLEY 


'Alone  she  wanders  where  with  HIM  she  trod, 
No  arm  to  stay  her,  but  she  leans  on  God." 

— O.  W.  HOLMES 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1880,  1908, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 


PEEFAOE. 

IT  was  not  in  my  heart  to  give  to  my  favorite 
child,  Elsie,  the  sorrows  of  Widowhood.  But 
the  public  made  the  title  and  demanded  the 
book  and  the  public,  I  am  told,  is  autocratic. 
So  what  could  I  do  but  write  the  story  and  try 
to  show  how  the  love  of  Christ  in  the  heart  can 
make  life  happy  even  under  sore  bereavement  ? 
The  apostle  says,  "I  am  filled  with  comfort,  I 
am  exceeding  joyful  in  all  our  tribulation  ;" 
and  since  trouble,  trial  and  affliction  are  the  lot 
of  all  in  this  world  of  sin  and  sorrow,  what 
greater  kindness  could  I  do  you,  dear  reader, 
than  to  show  you  where  to  go  for  relief  and  con- 
solation ?  That  this  little  book  may  teach  the 
sweet  lesson  to  many  a  tried  and  burdened  soul, 
is  the  earnest  prayer  of  your  friend, 

THE  AUTHOB. 


CONTENTS. 


PAOK 
CHAPTEB  1 7 

CHAPTER  II 18 

CHAPTER  III 28 

CHAPTER  IV 38 

CHAPTER  V 47 

CHAPTER  VI 59 

CHAPTER  VII * . . .    68 

CHAPTER  VIII 80 

CHAPTER  IX 91 

CHAPTER  X 101 

CHAPTER  XI 114 

CHAPTER  XII 127 

CHAPTER  XIII 140 

CHAPTER  XIV 151 

CHAPTER  XV 165 


vl  CONTENTS. 

PAG* 

CHAPTER  XVI 178 

CHAPTEB  XVII 194 

CHAPTEB  XVIII 207 

CHAPTER  XIX 220 

CHAPTER  XX 236 

CHAPTER  XXI 247 

CHAPTER  XXII 263 

CHAPTER  XXIII 279 

CHAPTER  XXIV 296 

CHAPTER  XXV. . .  . .  323 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"All  love  is  sweet, 

Given  or  returned.     Common  as  light  is  love, 
And  its  familiar  voice  wearies  not  ever." 

-Shelley. 

" COME  in,  Vi,  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Travilla's 
sweet  voice,  "  we  will  be  glad  to  have  you  with 
us." 

Violet,  finding  the  door  of  her  mother's  dress- 
ing-room ajar,  had  stepped  in,  then  drawn 
hastily  back,  fearing  to  intrude  upon  what 
seemed  a  private  interview  between  her  and  her 
namesake  daughter ;  Elsie  being  seated  on  a 
cushion  at  her  mamma's  feet,  her  face  half  hid- 
den on  her  lap,  while  mamma's  soft  white  hand 
gently  caressed  her  hair  and  cheek. 

"  I  feared  my  presence  might  not  be  quite  de- 
sirable just  now,  mamma,"  Violet  said  gayly, 
coming  forward  as  she  spoke.  "  But  what  is 
the  matter?"  she  asked  in  alarm,  perceiving 
that  tears  were  trembling  in  the  soft  brown 
eyes  that  were  lifted  to  hers.  "Dear  mamma, 
are  you  ill?  or  is  Elsie  ?  is  anything  wrong  with 
her  ?" 


8  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  She  shall  answer  for  herself,"  the  mother 
said  with  a  sort  of  tremulous  gayety  of  tone  and 
manner.  "  Come,  bonny  lassie,  lift  your  head 
and  tell  your  sister  of  the  calamity  that  has  be- 
fallen you." 

There  was  a  whispered  word  or  two  of  re- 
ply, and  Elsie  rose  hastily  and  glided  from  the 
room. 

"  Mamma,  is  she  sick  ?"  asked  Violet,  sur- 
prised and  troubled. 

"  Xo,  dear  child.  It  is — the  old  story:"  and 
the  mother  sighed  involuntarily.  "  We  cannot 
keep  her  always ;  some  one  wants  to  take  her 
from  us." 

"  Some  one  !  oh  who,  mamma  ?  who  would 
dare  ?  But  you  and  papa  will  never  allow  it  ?" 

"  Ah,  my  child,  we  cannot  refuse  ;  and  I  un- 
derstand now,  as  I  never  did  before,  why  my 
father  looked  so  sad  when  yours  asked  him  for 
his  daughter.'' 

Light  flashed  upon  Violet.  "  Ah  mamma,  is 
that  it  ?  and  who— but  I  think  I  know.  It  ig 
Lester  Leland,  is  it  not?" 

Her  mothers  smile  told  her  that  her  conjec- 
ture was  correct. 

Violet  sighed  as  she  took  the  seat  just  vacated 
by  her  sister,  folded  her  arms  on  her  mother's 
lap,  and  looked  up  with  loving  eyes  into  her 
face. 

"  Dear  mamma,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you  !  for 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  9 

papa  too,  and  for  myself.  What  shall  I  do 
without  my  sister  ?  How  can  you  and  papa  do 
without  her  ?  How  can  she  ?  I'm  sure  no  one 
in  the  world  can  ever  be  so  dear  to  me  as  my 
own  precious  father  and  mother.  And  I  wish 
— I  wish  Lester  Leland  had  never  seen  her." 

"  No,  darling,  we  should  not  wish  that. 
These  things  must  be  ;  God  in  his  infinite  wis- 
dom and  goodness  has  so  ordered  it.  I  am  sad 
at  the  thought  of  parting  with  my  dear  child, 
yet  how  could  I  be  so  selfish  as  to  wish  her  to 
miss  the  great  happiness  that  I  hare  found  in 
the  love  of  husband  and  children?" 

Violet  answered  with  a  doubtful  "  Yes,  mam- 
ma, but — " 

"  Well,  dear  ?"  her  mother  asked  with  a  smile, 
after  waiting  in  Tain  for  the  conclusion  of  the 
sentence. 

"  I  am  sure  there  is  not  another  man  in  all 
the  world  like  papa ;  not  one  half  so  dear  and 
good  and  kind  and  lovable." 

"  Ah,  you  may  change  your  mind  about  that 
some  day.  It  is  precisely  what  I  used  to  think 
and  say  of  my  dear  father,  before  I  quite  learn- 
ed the  worth  of  yours." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  forgot  grandpa  !  he  is — almost 
as  nice  and  dear  as  papa.  But  here  can't  be 
another  one,  I'm  yery,  evry  sure  of  that.  Les- 
ter Leland  is  not  half  so  nice-  Oh  I  don't  see 
how  Elsie  can  !" 


10  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  How  Elsie  can  what  ?"  asked  her  father, 
coming  in  at  that  moment,  and  regarding  hei 
with  a  half  quizzical  look  and  smile. 

"  Leave  you  and  mamma  for  somebody  else, 
you  dear,  dear,  dearest  father  !"  returned  Vi, 
springing  up  and  running  to  him  to  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  half  smother  him  with 
kisses. 

"  Then  we  may  hope  to  keep  you  for  a  good 
while  yet  ?"  he  said  interrogatively,  holding 
her  close  and  returning  her  caresses  in  most 
tender  fatherly  fashion,  the  mother  watching 
them  with  beaming  eyes. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  till  you  grow  quite,  quite 
tired  of  me,  papa." 

"And  that  will  never  be,  my  pet.  Ah,  little 
wife,  how  rich  we  are  in  our  children  !  Yet 
not  rich  enough  to  part  with  one  without  a  pang 
of  regret.  But  we  will  not  trouble  about  that 
yet,  since  the  evil  day  is  not  very  near." 

"  Oh  isn't  it  ?"  cried  Violet  joyously. 

"  No  ;  Lester  goes  to  Italy  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  it  will  be  one,  two,  or  maybe  three  years 
before  he  returns  to  claim  his  bride." 

"  Ah,  then  it  is  not  time  to  begin  to  fret  about 
it  yet  !"  cried  Vi,  gleefully,  smiles  chasing  away 
the  clouds  from  her  brow. 

At  her  age  a  year  seems  a  long  while  in  an- 
ticipation. 

"  No.  daughter,  nor  ever  will  be,"  her  father 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  H 

responded  with  gentle  gravity.  "I  hope  my 
little  girl  will  never  allow  herself  to  indulge  in 
so  useful  and  sinful  a  thing  as  fretting  over 
either  what  can  or  what  cannot  be  helped." 

"  Ah,  you  don't  mean  to  let  me  fret  at  all,  I 
see,  you  dear,  wise  old  papa,"  she  returned  with 
a  merry  laugh.  "Now  I  must  find  Elsie  and 
pass  the  lesson  over  to  her.  For  I  shrewdly  sus- 
pect she's  fretting  over  Lester's  expected  de- 
parture." 

"  Away  with  you  then  !"  was  the  laughing  re- 
joinder, and  she  went  dancing  and  singing 
from  the  room. 

"  The  dear,  merry,  light-hearted  child,"  her 
father  said,  looking  after  her.  "  Would  that  I 
could  keep  her  always  thus." 

"  Would  you  if  you  could,  my  husband  ?" 
Mrs.  Travilla  asked  with  a  tender  smile,  a  look 
of  loving  reverence,  as  he  sat  down  by  her 
side. 

"No,  sweet  wife,  I  would  not,"  he  answered 
emphatically;  "  for,  as  Rutherford  says,  'grace 
groweth  best  in  winter  ; '  and  the  Master  says, 
'  As  many  as  I  love,  I  rebuke  and  chasten.' " 

"  Yes  ;  and  'we  must  through  much  tribula- 
tion enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.'  Ah,  we 
could  never  choose  for  our  precious  children  ex- 
emption from  such  trials  and  afflictions  as  He 
may  see  necessary  to  fit  them  for  an  eternity  of 
joy  and  bliss  at  His  right  hand  !" 


12  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  No ;  nor  for  ourselves,  nor  for  each  other, 
my  darling.  But  how  well  it  is  that  the  choice 
is  not  for  us  !  How  could  I  ever  choose  a  single 
pang  for  you,  beloved  ?  vein  of  my  heart,  my 
life,  my  light,  my  joy  !" 

"  Or  I  for  you,  my  dear,  dear  husband!"  sh& 
whispered,  as  he  drew  her  head  to  a  resting^ 
place  upon  his  breast  and  pressed  a  long  kiss  of 
ardent  affection  on  her  pure  white  brow.  "Ah, 
Edward,  I  sometimes  fear  that  I  lean  on  you 
too  much,  love  you  too  dearly!  What  could  I 
ever  do  without  you — husband,  friend,  counsel- 
lor, guide — everything  in  one?" 

Violet  went  very  softly  into  her  sister's  dress- 
ing-room and  stood  for  several  minutes  watch- 
ing her  with  a  mixture  of  curiosity,  interest 
and  amusement,  before  Elsie  became  aware  of 
her  presence. 

She  sat  with  her  elbow  on  the  window  seat, 
her  cheek  in  her  hand,  eyes  fixed  on  some  dis- 
tant point  in  the  landscape,  but  evidently  with 
thoughts  intent  upon  something  quite  foreign 
to  it;  for  the  color  came  and  went  on  the  soft 
cheeks  with  every  breath,  and  conscious  smiles 
played  about  the  full  red  lips. 

At  last  turning  her  head  and  catching  her 
young  sister's  eye,  she  crimsoned  to  the  very 
forehead. 

"0  Elsie,  don't  mind  me!"  Violet  said, 
springing  to  her  side  and  putting  her  arms 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  13 

around  her.  "Are  you  so  very  happy?  You 
look  so,  and  I  am  glad  for  you;  but — but  I  can't 
understand  it." 

"What,  Vi?"  Elsie  asked,  half  hiding  her 
blushing  face  on  her  sister's  shoulder. 

"  How  you  can  love  anybody  better  than  our 
own  dear,  darling,  precious  papa  and  mamma." 

"Yes.  I — I  don't  wonder,  Vi,"  blushing  more 
deeply  than  before,  "  but  they  are  not  angry — 
dear,  dear  mamma  and  papa — it  seems  to  me  I 
never  loved  them  half  so  dearly  before — and 
they  say  it  is  quite  natural  and  right." 

"Then  it  must  be,  of  course;  but — I  wish  it 
•was  somebody  else's  sister  and  not  mine.  I 
can't  feel  as  if  a  stranger  has  as  much  right  to 
my  own  sister  as  I  have;  and  I  don't  know  how 
to  do  without  you.  0  Elsie,  can't  you  be  con- 
tent to  live  on  always  in  just  the  way  we  have 
ever  since  we  were  little  bits  of  things?" 

Elsie  answered  with  an  ardent  embrace  and  a 
murmured  "  Darling  Vi,  don't  be  vexed  with 
me.  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  if  you  knew  how 
dearly,  dearly  I  love  you." 

"  Well,  I  do  suppose  you  can't  help  it!"  sighed 
Violet,  returning  the  embrace. 

"  Can't  help  loving  you?  No,  indeed;  who 
could?"  Elsie  returned  laughingly.  "  You 
wouldn't  wish  it,  surely?  You  value  my  affec- 
tion?" 

"Oh  you  dear  old  goose!"  laughed  Violet; 


14  ELSIE1 8   WIDOWHOOD. 

"but  that  was  a  wilful  misunderstanding. 
None  so  stupid  as  those  that  won't  comprehend. 
Now  I'll  run  away  and  leave  you  to  your  pleas- 
ant thoughts.  May  I  tell  Molly?" 

"  Yes,"  Elsie  answered  with  some  hesitation, 
"  she'll  have  to  know  soon.  Mamma  thinks  it 
should  not  be  kept  secret,  though  it  must  be  so 
long  before — " 

"Ah,  that  reminds  me  that  I  was  to  pass  over 
to  you  the  lesson  papa  just  gave  me — that  fret- 
ting is  never  wise  or  right.  I  leave  you  to  make 
the  application,"  and  she  ran  gayly  away. 

So  joyous  of  heart,  so  full  of  youthful  life  and 
animation  was  she  that  she  seldom  moved  with 
sedateness  and  sobriety  in  the  privacy  of  home, 
but  went  tripping  and  dancing  from  room  to 
room,  often  filling  the  house  with  birdlike  war- 
blings  or  silvery  laughter. 

Molly  Percival  sat  in  her  own  cheery,  pleas- 
ant room,  pen  in  hand  and  surrounded  by  books 
and  papers  over  which  she  seemed  very  intent, 
though  now  and  then  she  lifted  her  head  and 
sent  a  sweeping  glance  through  the  open  win- 
dow, drinking  in  with  delight  the  beauties  of  a 
panorama  of  hill  and  dale,  sparkling  river,  cul- 
tivated field  and  wild  woodland,  to  which  the 
shifting  lights  and  shadows,  as  now  and  again  a 
fleecy,  wind-swept  cloud  partially  obscured  the 
brightness  of  the  sun,  lent  the  °harm  of  endless 
variety. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  15 

Molly's  face  was  bright  with  intelligence  and 
good  hurnor.  She  enjoyed  her  work  and  her 
increasing  success.  And  she  had  still  another 
happiness  in  the  change  that  had  come  over 
her  mother. 

Still  feeble  in  intellect,  Enna  Johnson  had 
become  as  remarkable  for  gentleness  and  docili- 
ty as  she  had  formerly  been  for  pride,  arrogance 
and  self-will. 

She  had  grown  very  fond  of  Molly,  too,  very 
proud  of  her  attainments  and  her  growing  fame, 
and  asked  no  greater  privilege  than  to  sit  in  the 
room  with  her,  watching  her  at  her  work,  and 
ever  ready  to  wait  upon  and  do  her  errands. 

And  so  she,  too,  had  her  home  at  Ion,  made 
always  welcome  by  its  large-hearted,  generous 
master  and  mistresss. 

"Busy,  as  usual,  I  see,"  remarked  Violet,  asr 
she  came  tripping  in.  "  Molly,  you  are  the  veri- 
est bee,  and  richly  deserve  to  have  your  hive- 
full  of  the  finest  honey.  I'm  the  bearer  of  a 
bit  of  news  very  interesting  to  Elsie  and  me,  in, 
fact  I  suppose  I  might  say  to  all  the  family. 
Have  you  time  to  hear  it?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  in  bringing  it,"  Molly  answered,  lay- 
ing down  her  pen  and  leaning-  back  in  a  restful 
attitude.  "  But  sit  down  first,  won't  you?" 

"  Thank  you,  no;  it's  time  to  dress  for  din- 
ner. I  must  just  state  the  fact  and  run  away," 


16  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

said  Violet,  pulling  out  a  tiny  gold  watch  set 
with  brilliants.  "It  is  that  Elsie  and  Lester 
Leland  are  engaged." 

"And  your  father  and  mother  approve?" 
asked  Molly  in  some  surprise. 

"Yes,  of  course;  Elsie  would  never  think  of 
engaging  herself  to  anybody  without  their  ap- 
proval. But  why  should  they  be  expected  to 
object?" 

"  I  don't  know,  only — he's  poor,  and  most 
wealthy  people  would  consider  that  a  very  great 
objection." 

Violet  laughed  lightly.  "  What  an  odd  idea! 
If  there  is  wealth  on  one  side,  there's  the  less 
need  of  it  on  the  other,  I  should  think.  And 
he  is  intelligent,  sensible,  talented,  amiable  and 
good;  rather  handsome  too." 

"And  so  you  are  pleased,  Vi?" 

"Yes,  no,  I  don't  know,"  and  the  bright  face 
clouded  slightly.  "  I  wish — but  if  people  must 
marry,  he'll  do  as  well  as  another  to  rob  me  of 
my  sister,  I  suppose." 

She  tripped  away,  and  Molly,  dropping  her 
head  upon  her  folded  arms  on  the  table,  sighed 
profoundly. 

Some  one  touched  her  on  the  shoulder,  and 
her  mother's  voice  asked,  "What's  the  matter. 
Molly?  You  don't  envy  her  that  poor  artist 
fellow,  do  you?  You  needn't:  there'll  be  a  bet- 
ter one  coming  aloTv/,  :5or  you  one  of  these  days." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  17 

"  No.  no;  not  for  me  !  not  for  me  !"  gasped 
the  girl.  "  I've  nothing  to  do  with  love  or 
marriage,  except  to  picture  them  for  others. 
It's  like  mixing  delicious  draughts  for  other 
lips,  while  I — I  may  not  taste  them — may  not 
have  a  single  drop  to  cool  my  parched  tongue, 
or  quench  my  burning  thirst." 

At  the  moment  life  seemed  to  stretch  out  be- 
fore her  as  a  dreary  waste,  unbrightened  by  a 
single  flower — a  long,  toilsome  road  to  be  trod 
in  loneliness  and  pain.  Her  heart  uttered  the 
old  plaint:  "  They  »eem  to  have  everything  and 
I  nothing." 

Then  her  cheek  burned  with  shame,  and  peni- 
tent tears  filled  her  eyes,  as  better  thoughts 
came  crowding  into  her  mind. 

Had  she  not  a  better  than  an  earthly  love  to 
cheer,  comfort,  and  sustain  her  on  her  way? 
— a  love  that  would  never  fail,  a  Friend  who 
would  never  leave  nor  forsake  her  ;  whose  sym- 
pathy was  perfect ;  who  was  always  touched 
with  the  feeling  of  her  infirmities,  and  into 
whose  ear  she  could  ever  whisper  her  -every  sor- 
row, perplexity,  anxiety,  certain  of  help ;  for 
His  love  and  power  were  infinite. 

And  the  minor  blessings  of  her  lot  were  in- 
numerable :  the  love  of  kindred  and  friends, 
and  the  ability  to  do  good  and  give  pleasure  by 
the  exercise  of  her  God-given  talents,  not  the 
least. 


CHAPTER  II. 

M  Marriage  is  a  matter  of  more  worth 
Than  to  be  dealt  in  by  attorneyship." 

— Shakespeare. 

LESTEB  LELAXD  would  sail  in  a  few  weeks 
for  Europe.  He  was  going  to  Italy  to  study  the 
great  masters,  and  with  the  determination  to 
epare  no  effort  to  so  perfect  himself  in  his  art 
that  his  fame  as  the  first  of  American  sculptors 
should  constitute  a  prize  worthy  to  lay  at  the 
feet  of  his  peerless  Elsie. 

Their  engagement  was  presently  made  known 
to  all  the  connection,  and  with  no  pledge  or 
request  of  secrecy,  her  parents  deeming  such  a 
course  wisest  and  kindest  to  all  parties.  Elsie 
had  many  suitors,  and  it  was  but  just  to  them 
to  let  it  be  understood  that  her  selection  was 
made. 

The  communication  was  by  note  to  each  fam- 
ily, which  note  contained  also  an  invitation  to  a 
family  dinner  at  Ion,  given  in  honor  of  the  new- 
ly affianced  pair. 

Of  course  the  matter  called  forth  more  or 
less  of  discussion  in  each  household,  every  one 
feeling  privileged  to  express  an  opinion  in  re- 
gard to  the  suitableness  of  the  proposed  match. 

It  created  some  surprise  at  the  Oaks,  but  as 


ELSIE'S    WIDOWHOOD.  19 

Lester  was  liked  and  his  genius  admired  by 
them  all,  there  were  no  unfavorable  comments. 

At  Ashlands  the  news  was  received  in  much 
the  same  way,  Herbert  remarking,  "Well,  as  it 
isn't  Vi,  I  don't  care  a  pin." 

Everybody  at  Fairview  was  delighted.  At 
Pinegrove  it  was  pronounced  "  an  odd  affair, 
but  just  like  the  Travillas ;  in  choosing  their 
friends  and  associates  they  never  seemed  to  look 
upon  wealth  as  a  recommendation,  or  the  want 
of  it  as  an  objection. 

It  was  at  breakfast-time  that  the  note  of  in- 
vitation, addressed  to  old  Mr.  Dinsmore,  reached 
Roselands.  He  glanced  over  it,  then  read  it 
aloud. 

"My  great-granddaughter  engaged  to  be 
married  !"  he  remarked,  as  he  laid  it  down.  "  1 
may  well  feel  myself  an  aged  patriarch!  Though 
*  few  and  evil  have  the  days  of  the  years  of  my 
life  been,'  "  he  added,  low  and  musingly,  end- 
ing with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"No  such  thing,  father!"  said  Mrs.  Conly, 
in  a  quick,  impatient  tone.  "I'm  not  going 
to  hear  you  talk  so  about  yourself ;  you  who- 
have  been  always  an  honorable,  upright,  pol- 
ished gentleman." 

"  But  what  a  wretched  mesalliance  is  this!'* 
she  commented,  with  covert  delight,  taking  up 
the  note  and  glancing  over  its  contents.  "A 
poor  artistv  destitute  of  fame  and  money  alike> 


20  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

to  mate  with  an  heiress  to  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands !  Why,  poor  as  I  and  my  children  are,  J 
should  have  rejected  overtures  from  him  for  one 
of  my  girls  with  scorn  and  indignation."' 

"  Which  would  have  been  a  decided  mistake, 
I  think,  mother,"  remarked  Calhoun,  respect- 
fully. "  Leland  is  a  fine  fellow,  of  good  family, 
and  very  talented.  He'll  make  his  mark  some 
day,  and  you  may  live  to  take  pride  in  saying 
that  the  wife  of  the  famous  sculptor  Leland  is 
a  niece  of  yours." 

"A  half  grandniece,"  she  corrected, bridling. 
"  But  I  shall  be  an  ancient  dame  indeed  before 
that  comes  to  pass." 

"  I  have  found  him  a  very  gentlemanly  and 
intelligent  fellow,"  remarked  Arthur  ;  "and  as 
for  money,  Elsie  is  likely  to  have  enough  for 
both." 

"  So  she  is,"  said  the  grandfather. 

"  And  he  is  thoroughly  good,  and  will  make 
a  kind  and  appreciative  husband,"  added  Isadore. 

Virginia  looked  scornful  and  contemptuous. 
"  He's  too  goody-goody  for  me,"  she  said,  "but 
just  like  the  Travillas  in  that,  so  will  fit  in 
exactly,  I  presume.  Well,  if  people  like  to 
make  fools  of  themselves,  I  don't  see  that  we 
need  be  unhappy  about  it.  We'll  accept  the  in- 
vitation, of  course,  mamma  ?"  turning  to  her 
mother  ;  "  and  the  next  question  is,  what  shall 
we  wear  ?> 


ELSIE' 8   WIDOWHOOD.  21 

"  We  must  make  handsome  dinner  toilets,  of 
course/'  was  the  reply;  "for,  though  none  but 
relatives  and  connections  are  to  be  present,  it 
will  be  a  large  company." 

"  Yes,  and  I've  no  fancy  for  being  outshone 
by  anybody,  and  Aunt  Rose  is  sure  to  be  very 
elegantly  attired  ;  Cousin  Rose  Lacey  and 
Cousin  Horace's  wife  no  less  so.  Talk  of  my 
fondness  for  dress !  It's  small  compared  to 
theirs." 

"It  is  principally  the  doing  of  the  hus- 
bands," said  Isadore.  "Both — or  I  might  say 
all  three,  for  Uncle  Horace  is  no  exception — are 
very  fond  of  seeing  their  wives  well  dressed." 

"An  excellent  trait  in  a  gentleman — the  de- 
termination that  his  nearest  female  relatives 
shall  make  a  good  appearance,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Conly,  significantly,  glancing  from  father  to 
sous. 

"  But  the  ability  to  bring  it  about  is  not  al- 
ways commensurate  with  the  desire,  mother," 
said  Isadore. 

"  Thank  you,  Isa,"  said  Calhoun,  following 
her  from  the  room,  for  she  had  risen  from  the 
table  with  her  last  words ;  "  my  mother  does 
^ot  seem  to  comprehend  the  difference  between 
our  circumstances  and  those  of  some  of  our 
relatives,  and  I  am  sure  has  no  idea  of  the  pam 
her  words  sometimes  give  to  grandpa,  Art,  and 
myself." 


22  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

"  No,  Cal,  or  she  could  never  be  so  cruel,* 
Isa  answered,  laying  her  hand  affectionately  on 
Ids  arm  and  looking  lovingly  into  his  eyes.  "  I 
know  that  my  brothers  deny  themselves  many 
an  innocent  gratification  for  the  sake  of  their 
mother  and  sisters:  and  Cal,  I  do  appreciate  it. 

"  I  know  you  do,  Isa.  Now  tell  me  what  you 
will  want  for  this — " 

"Nothing,"  she  interrupted,  with  an  arch 
smile  up  into  his  face.  "  Do  you  suspect  me  of 
praising  your  generosity  for  a  purpose?  I  have 
everything  I  want  for  the  occasion,  I  do  assure 
you.  But,  Cal,  what  do  you  suppose  Uncle 
Horace  will  think  of  Elsie's  choice?" 

"  He  will  not  object  on  the  score  of  Leland's 
lack  of  wealth,  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken. 
Bui  here  he  comes  to  speak  for  himself,"  he 
added,  as  a  horseman  was  seen  coming  up  the 
avenue  at  a  brisk  canter. 

They  were  standing  in  the  hall,  but  now  step- 
ped out  upon  the  veranda  to  greet  Mr.  Dins- 
more  as  he  alighted,  giving  his  horse  in  charge 
to  a  young  negro  who  came  eagerly  forward  to 
do  the  service,  quite  sure  that  he  would  be  suit- 
ably rewarded. 

It  was  the  lad's  firm  conviction  that  "  Massa 
Horace"  possessed  an  inexhaustible  supply  of 
email  coin,  some  of  which  was  very  apt  to  be 
transferred  to  the  pockets  of  those  who  waited 
upon  him. 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  33 

Greetings  were  exchanged  and  Mr.  Dinsmore 
gaid,  "I  am  on  my  way  to  Ion.  Suppose  yon 
order  your  pony,  Isa,  and  ride  over  with  me. 
They  will  be  glad  to  see  you.  I  want  a  few  mo- 
ments chat  with  my  father,  and  that  will  give 
you  time  to  don  your  hat  and  habit." 

Isadore  was  nothing  loath,  and  within  half  an 
hour  they  were  on  their  way. 

"You  have  heard  the  news?"  her  uncle  re- 
marked inquiringly. 

"  Of  Elsie's  engagement?  Yes,  sir.  You  were 
discussing  it  with  grandpa  and  mamma,  were 
you  not?" 

"  Yes,"  and  he  smiled  slightly. 

"  You  don't  think  as  she  does  about  it,  un- 
cle?" 

"No,  I  am  fully  satisfied;  that  the  young 
man  is  well-bred,  good,  amiable,  honest,  intelli- 
gent, educated,  talented  and  industrious  seems  to 
me  quite  sufficient.  My  only  objection  is  that 
the  engagement  seems  likely  to  be  a  long  one. 
And  yet  that  has  the  advantage  of  leaving  the 
dear  child  longer  in  her  father's  house." 

"  Of  which  I  for  one  am  very  glad,"  said  Isa. 
"  What  a  sweet  girl  she  is,  uncle!" 

"Yes;  she  strongly  resembles  her  mother  in 
person  and  character;  has  always  seemed  to  me 
a  sort  of  second  edition  of  her." 

They  found  the  Travillas,  old  and  young,  all 
out  on  tha veranda  enjoying  a  family  chat  before 


24  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

scattering  to  tlieir  various  employments  for  the 
day. 

Grandpa,  though  seldom  a  day  passed  without 
a  visit  from  him  to  Ion,  was  welcomed  with  all 
the  effusion  and  delight  that  might  reasonably 
have  been  expected  if  he  had  not  been  seen 
for  a  month.  His  daughter's  eyes  shone  with 
filial  love  and  pleasure  as  they  exchanged  their 
accustomed  affectionate  greeting,  and,  as  he  took 
possession  of  the  comfortable  arm-chair  Mr.  Tra- 
villa  hastened  to  offer,  his  grandchildren  cluster- 
ed about  him,  the  little  ones  climbing  his  knees 
with  the  freedom  and  fearlessness  of  those  who 
doubted  neither  their  right  nor  their  welcome. 

But  in  the  meantime  Isadore  was  not  forgot- 
ten or  overlooked.  She  too  was  quite  at  home 
at  Ion  and  always  made  to  feel  that  her  visits 
were  esteemed  a  pleasure. 

There  was  a  slight  timidity  of  manner,  a 
sweet  half  shyness  about  the  younger  Elsie  this 
morning  that  was  very  charming.  Her  eyes 
drooped  under  her  grandfather's  questioning 
look  and  smile  and  the  color  came  ai?^  went  on 
her  fair  cheek. 

He  said  nothing  to  her,  however,  until  the 
younger  ones  had  been  summoned  away  to 
their  studies,  then  turned  to  her  with  the  re- 
mark, "I  must  congratulate  Lester  Leland 
when  next  I  see  him.  Well,  my  dear  child,  I 
trust  you  have  not  made  a  hasty  choice?" 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  25 

"  I  think  not,  grandpa  ;  we  have  known  each, 
other  quite  intimately  for  several  years,"  she 
answered,  casting  down  her  eyes  and  blushing 
deeply.  "You  do  not  disapprove?" 

"  I  have  no  right  to  object  if  your  parents  are 
satisfied,"  he  said.  "But  there,  do  not  look 
uncomfortable  ;  I  really  think  Lester  a  fine  fel- 
low, and  am  quite  willing  to  number  him  among 
my  grandchildren." 

She  gave  him  a  bright,  grateful  look ;  then 
she  and  Isa  stole  away  together  for  a  little  girl- 
ish confidence,  leaving  the  older  people  to  a 
more  business-like  discussion  of  the  matter. 

On  every  subject  of  grave  importance  Mr. 
Dinsmore  was  taken  into  the  counsels  of  his 
daughter  and  her  husband.  His  approval  on 
this  occasion,  though  they  had  scarcely  doubted 
it,  was  gratifying  to  both. 

There  were  no  declinations  of  the  invitation 
to  the  family  dinner-party,  and  at  the  appointed 
time  the  whole  connection  gathered  at  Ion — a 
large  and  goodly  troop — the  adults  in  drawing- 
room  and  parlors,  the  little  ones  in  the  nursery. 
There  was  the  Eoselands  branch,  consisting 
of  the  old  grandfather,  with  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Conly,  and  her  numerous  progeny. 

Prom  the  Oaks  came  Mr.  Horace  Dinsmore, 
Sr.,  and  Mr,  Horace  Dinsmore,  Jr.,  with  their 
wives  and  a  bright,  beautiful,  rollicking  year- 
old  boy,  whom  the  proud  young  father  styled 


26  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOL. 

Horace  III. ;  also  Molly's  half  brother  and  si*, 
tor,  Bob  and  Betty  Johnson,  to  whom  their 
uncle  and  aunt  still  gave  a  home  and  parental 
care  and  affection. 

All  the  Howards,  of  Pinegrove,  were  there 
too — three  generations,  two  of  the  sons  bringing 
wives  and  little  ones  with  them. 

The  Oarringtons,  of  Ashlands,  were  also  pres- 
ent ;  for,  though  not  actually  related  to  the 
Travillas,  the  old  and  close  friendship,  and  the 
fact  that  they  were  of  Mrs.  Kose  Dinsmore's 
near  kindred,  seemed  to  place  them  on  the  foot- 
ing of  relationship. 

But  we  are  forgetting  Mrs-  Travilla's  sister 
Rose.  She  was  now  Mrs.  Lacey,  of  the  Laurels 
— a  handsome  place  some  four  miles  from  Ion — 
and  mother  of  a  fine  son,  whom  she  and  her 
husband  brought  with  them  to  the  family  gath- 
ering and  exhibited  to  the  assembled  company 
with  no  little  joy  and  pride. 

It  remains  only  to  mention  Lester  Leland  and 
his  relatives  of  Fairview,  who  were  all  there,  re- 
ceived and  treated  as  honored  guests  by  their 
entertainers,  with  urbane  politeness  by  all  the 
others,  except  Mrs.  Conly  and  Virginia,  who  saw 
fit  to  appear  almost  oblivious  of  their  existence. 

They,  however,  took  a  sensible  view  of  the 
situation,  and  were  quite  indifferent  as  to  the 
opinions  and  behavior  toward  them  of  the  two 
haughty  women. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  27 

No  one  else  seemed  to  notice  it;  all  was  ap- 
parent harmony  and  good  will,  and  Lester  felt 
himself  welcomed  into  the  family  with  at  least 
a  show  of  cordiality  from  the  most  of  the  rela- 
tives of  "his  betrothed. 

She  behaved  very  sweetly,  conducting  herself 
with  a  half  shy,  modest  grace  that  disarmed  even. 
Aunt  Conly's  criticism. 

A  few  happy  weeks  followed,  weeks  rosy  and 
blissful  with  love's  young  dream,  then  Lester 
tore  himself  away  and  left  his  Elsie  mourning; 
for  half  the  brightness  and  bloom  of  life  seemed 
to  have  gone  with  him. 

Father  and  mother  were  very  pati.mt  with 
her,  very  tender  and  sympathizing,  very  solici^ 
tous  to  amuse  and  entertain  and  help  her  to  re- 
new her  old  zest  for  simple  home  pleasures  and 
employments,  the  old  enjoyment  of  their  love 
and  that  of  her  brothers  and  sisters. 

Ah!  in  after  days  she  recalled  it  all — especial* 
ly  the  gentle,  tender  persuasiveness  of  her 
father's  looks  and  tones,  the  caressing  touch  of 
his  hand,  the  loving  expression  of  his  eye—- 
with a  strange  mixture  of  gladness  and  bitter 
sorrow,  an  unavailing,  remorseful  regret  that 
she  had  not  responded  more  readily  and  heartily 
to  these  manifestations  of  his  strong  fatherly 
affection.  There  came  a  time  when  a  caress 
from  him  was  coveted  far  more  than  those  of  her 
absent  lov°r 


CHAPTER  III. 

^  Faith  is  exceedingly  charitable  and  believeth  no  evil  of  God* 

—Rutherford. 

DELICIOUS  September  days  had  come;  the  air 
was  soft  and  balmy;  a  mellow  haze  filled  the 
woods,  just  beginning  to  s"how  the  touch  of  the 
Frost  King's  fingers. 

The  children  could  not  content  themselves 
within  doors,  and  the  wisely  indulgent  mother 
had  given  them  a  holiday  and  spent  the  morn- 
ing with  them  on  the  banks  of  the  lakelet  and 
floating  over  its  bright  surface  in  their  pretty 
pleasure-boat. 

Eeturned  to  the  house,  she  was  now  resting  in 
her  boudoir,  lying  back  in  a  large  easy  chair  with 
a  book  in  her  hand.  Suddenly  it  dropped  into 
her  lap,  she  started  up  erect  in  her  chair  and 
seemed  to  listen  intently. 

Was  that  her  husband's  step  coming  slowly 
along  the  hall  ?  It  was  like  and  yet  unlike  it, 
lacking  the  firm,  elastic  tread. 

The  door  opened  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 
"Edward!  you  are  ill !"  for  there  was  a  deathly 
pallor  on  his  face. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  little  wife;  it  is  nothing 
— a  strange  pain,  a  sudden  faintness,"  he  said, 
trying  to  smile,  but  tottered  and  would  have 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  29 

fallen  had  she  not  hastened  to  give  him  the  sup- 
port of  her  arm. 

She  helped  him  to  a  couch,  placed  a  pillow 
beneath  his  head,  rang  for  assistance,  brought 
him  a  glass  of  cold  water,  cologne  and  smell- 
ing-salts from  her  dressing-table;  doing  all  with 
a  deft  quickness  free  from  flurry,  though  her 
heart  almost  stood  still  with  a  terrible  fear  and 
dread. 

What  meant  this  sudden  seizure,  this  anguish 
so  great  that  it  had  bowed  in  a  moment  the 
strength  of  a  strong  man  ?  She  had  never 
known  him  to  be  seriously  ill  before.  He  had 
seemed  in  usual  health  when  he  left  her  for  hi& 
accustomed  round  over  the  plantation  only  a  few 
hours  ago,  and  now  he  was  nearly  helpless  with 
suffering. 

Servants  were  instantly  despatched  in  diffei 
ent  directions :  one  to  Eoselands  to  summon  Dr. 
Arthur  Conly,  another  to  the  Oaks  for  her  fa- 
ther, to  whom  she  instinctively  turned  in  every 
time  of  trouble,  and  who  was  ever  ready  to  obey 
the  call. 

Both  arrived  speedily,  to  find  Mr.  Travilla  in 
an  agony  of  pain,  bearing  it  without  a  murmur, 
almost  without  a  moan  or  groan,  but  with  cold 
beads  of  perspiration  standing  on  his  brow; 
Elsie  beside  him.  calm,  quiet,  alert  to  anticipate 
every  wish,  but  pale  as  a  marble  statue  and  with 
a  look  of  anguish  in  her  beautiful  eyes.  It  was 


30  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

so  hard  to  stand  by  and  see  the  suffering  en- 
dured by  him  who  was  dearer  than  her  own  life. 

She  watched  Arthur's  face  as  he  examined 
and  questioned  his  patient,  and  saw  it  grow 
white  to  the  very  lips. 

Was  her  husband's  doom  then  sealed? 

But  Arthur  drew  her  and  Mr.  Dinsmore 
aside. 

"  The  case  is  a  bad  one,  but  not  hopeless,"  he 
said.  "  I  am  unwilling  to  take  the  responsibility 
alone,  but  must  call  in  Dr.  Barton  and  also  send 
to  the  city  for  the  best  advice  to  be  had  there." 

"  We  have  great  confidence  in  your  skill.  Ar- 
thur," Elsie  said,  "  but  let  nothing  be  left  un- 
done. God  alone  can  heal,  but  he  works  by 
means." 

"And  in  the  multitude  of  counsellors  there  is 
safety,"  added  Mr.  Dinsmore.  ''Dear  daugh- 
ter, '  be  strong  and  of  a  good  courage  ;'  there 
shall  no  evil  befall  you,  for  your  heavenly 
Father  knows,  and  will  do  what  is  best." 

"  Yes,  papa,  I  know,  I  believe  it,"  she  an- 
swered with  emotion.  "Ah,  pray  for  me,  that 
strength  may  be  given  me  according  to  my  day: 
and  to  him,  my  dear,  dear  husband;  no  mur- 
muring thoughts  arise  in  either  of  our  hearts." 

The  news  had  flown  through  the  house  that 
its  master  and  head  had  been  stricken  down 
with  sudden,  severe  illness.  Great  were  the 
consternation  and  distress  among  both  children 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  3: 

and  servants,  so  beloved  was  he,  so  strange  a 
thing  did  it  seem  for  him  to  be  ill,  for  he  had 
seldom  had  a  day's  sickness  in  all  the  years  that 
they  had  known  him. 

Elsie,  Edward  and  Violet  hastened  to  the  door 
of  the  sick-room,  begging  that  they  might  be 
admitted,  that  they  might  share  in  the  work  of 
nursing  the  dear  invalid. 

Their  mamma  came  to  them,  her  sweet  face 
very  pale  but  calm. 

"  No,  darlings,"  she  said  in  her  gentle,  tender 
tones,  "it  will  not  do  to  have  so  many  in  the 
room  while  your  dear  father  is  suffering  so 
much.  Your  grandpa,  mammy  and  I  must  be 
his  only  nurses  for  the  present;  though  after  a 
time  your  services  may  be  needed." 

"  0  mamma, it  is  very  hard  to  have  to  stay  away 
from  him,"  sobbed  Violet. 

"  I  know  it,  dearest,"  her  mother  said,  "  and 
my  heart  aches  for  you  and  all  my  darlings;  but 
I  am  sure  you  all  love  your  dear  father  too  well 
not  to  willingly  sacrifice  your  own  feelings  when 
to  indulge  them  might  injure  him  or  increase 
his  pain." 

"  0  mamma,  yes,  yes  indeed!"  they  all  cried. 

"  Well  then,  dears,  go  away  now;  look  after 
the  younger  ones  and  the  servants  —  I  trust 
them  all  to  your  care;  and  when  the  doctors  say 
it  will  do,  you  shall  see  and  speak  to  your  father, 
and  do  anything  for  him  that  you  can." 


32  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

So  with  a  loving,  motherly  caress  bestowed 
upon  each,  she  dismissed  them  to  the  duties  she 
had  pointed  out,  and  returned  to  her  station 
beside  her  husband's  couch. 

Mr.  Dinsmore,  Arthur  Conly,  and  Aunt 
Chloe  were  gathered  about  it  engaged  in  efforts 
to  relieve  the  torturing  pain.  His  features  were 
convulsed  with  it,  but  his  eyes  wandered  rest- 
lessly around  the  room  as  if  in  search  of  some- 
thing. As  Elsie  drew  near  they  fixed  them- 
selves upon  her  face,  and  his  was  lighted  up  with 
a  faint  smile. 

"  Darling,  precious  little  wife,"  he  murmured, 
drawing  her  down  to  him  till  their  lips  met  in  a 
long  loving  kiss,  "don't  leave  me  fora  moment. 
Nothing  helps  me  to  bear  this  agony  like  the 
sight  of  your  sweet  face." 

"Ah,  beloved,  if  I  might  bear  it  for  you!"  she 
sighed,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  while  her 
soft  white  hand  was  laid  tenderly  upon  his  brow. 

"No,  no! "  he  said,  "  that  were  far  worse,  far 
worse!" 
'.    Her  tears  were  falling  fast. 

"Ah,  do  not  be  so  distressed;  it  is  not  unen- 
durable," he  hastened  to  say  with  a  loving,  ten- 
der look"  and  an  effort  to  smile  in  the  midst  of 
his  agony.  "And  He,  He  is  with  me;  the  Lord 
my  Saviour!  '  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liv- 
eth,'  and  the  sense  of  His  love  is  very  sweet, 
never  so  sweet  before." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  33 

""  " Thank  God  that  it  is  so!  Ah,  He  is  faith- 
ful to  his  promises!"  she  said. 

Then  kneeling  by  his  side  she  repeated  one 
sweet  and  precious  promise  after  another,  the 
blessed  words  and  loved  tones  seeming  to  have  a 
greater  power  to  soothe  and  relieve  than  any- 
thing else. 

The  other  physicians  arrived,  examined,  con- 
sulted, used  such  remedies  as  were  known  to 
them;  everything  was  done  that  science  and 
human  skill  could  do,  but  without  avail;  they 
could  give  temporary  relief  by  the  use  of  opiates 
and  anaesthetics,  but  were  powerless  to  remove 
the  disease  which  was  fast  hurrying  its  victim 
to  the  grave. 

Both  Mr.  Travilla  and  Elsie  desired  to  know 
the  truth,  and  it  was  not  corcealed  from  them. 
On  Mr.  Dinsmore  devolved  the  sad  task  of  im- 
parting it. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day. 
The  doctors  had  held  a  final  consultation  and 
communicated  their  verdict  to  him.  Moved  to 
his  very  heart's  core  at  the  thought  of  parting 
with  his  lifelong  bosom  friend,  and  more  for  the 
far  sorer  bereavement  awaiting  his  almost  idol- 
ized child,  he  waited  a  little  to  recover  his  com- 
posure, then  entered  the  sick-room  and  drew 
silently  near  the  bed. 

Elsie  sat  close  at  her  husband's  side,  one  hand 
clasped  in  his,  while  with  the  other  she  gently 


34  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

fanned  him  or  wiped  the  death  damp  from  his 
brow.  Did  she  know  it  was  that?  Her  face 
was  colorless,  but  quite  calm. 

Mr.  Travilla  was  at  that  moment  entirely 
conscious,  and  his  eyes  were  gazing  full  into 
hers  with  an  expression  of  unutterable  love  and 
the  tenderest  compassion. 

At  length  they  turned  from  her  face  for  an 
instant  and  were  uplifted  to  that  of  her  father, 
as  he  stood  close  beside  her,  regarding  them 
both  with  features  working  with  emotion. 

The  dying  man  understood  its  cause.  "Is  it 
so,  Dinsmore?"  he  said  feebly,  but  with  perfect 
composure.  "Elsie,  little  wife,"  and  he  drew 
her  to  him,  both  tone  and  gesture  full  of  exceed- 
ing tenderness.  "Olove,  darling,  precious  one, 
must  we  part?  I  go  to  the  glory  and  bliss  of 
heaven,  but  you — "  His  voice  broke. 

Her  heart  seemed  riven  in  twain ;  but  she 
must  comfort  him.  One  bursting  sob  as  she 
bid  her  face  upon  his  breast,  one  silent  agonized 
cry  to  Heaven  for  help,  and  lifting  her  head, 
she  gave  him  a  long  look  of  love,  then  laid  her 
cheek  to  his,  put  her  arm  about  his  neck. 

"My  darling,  my  dear,  dear  husband,"  she 
said  in  her  sweetest  tones,  "  do  not  fear  for 
me,  or  for  our  children.  The  Lord,  even  Josus, 
will  be  our  keeper.  Do  not  let  the  thought  of 
us  disturb  you  now,  or  damp  the  glad  anticipa- 
tion of  the  wondrous  glory  and  bliss  to  which 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  35 

you  go.  Soon  you  will  be  with  Him,  '  forever 
with  the  Lord.'  And  how  glad  our  darling 
Lily  will  be  to  see  her  beloved  father ;  dear 
mother  to  recover  her  son  ;  and  what  a  little, 
little  while  it  will  seem  till  we  all  shall  join  you 
there,  never,  never  to  part  again." 

"  And  neither  she,  my  dear  daughter,  nor  her 
children,  shall  want  for  a  father's  love  and  care 
while  I  live,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Dins- 
more,  his  voice  tremulous  with  emotion. 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  and  God  be  thanked 
that  I  leave  them  in  such  good  and  loving 
hands,"  Mr.  Tra villa  answered,  looking  grate- 
fully at  his  friend. 

"  You  trusted  your  darling  child  to  me,"  ha 
went  on  low  and  feebly  and  with  frequent 
pauses  for  breath,  "  and  I  give  her  back  to  you. 
Oh  she  has  been  a  dear,  dear  wife  to  me  !"  he 
exclaimed,  softly  stroking  her  hair.  "  God  bless 
you,  my  darling  !  God  bless  you  for  your  faith- 
ful, unselfish  love  !  You  have  been  the  sun- 
shine of  my  heart  and  home." 

"  And  you,  my  beloved,  oh  what  a  husband 
you  have  been  to  me  !"  she  sobbed,  covering  his 
face  with  kisses  ;  "  never  one  unkind  or  impa- 
tient word,  or  look,  or  tone,  nothing  but  the 
tenderest  love  and  care  have  I  had  from  you 
since  the  hour  we  gave  ourselves  to  each  other. 
And  I  thought,  oh  I  thought  we  had  many 
more  years  to  live  and  love  together  !  But  God's 
will  be  done  !" 


36  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  His  will  be  done  with  me 
and  mine.  Darling,  he  will  never  leave  nor  for- 
sake you  ;  and  though  I  am  almost  done  with 
time,  we  shall  have  all  the  ages  of  eternity  to 
live  and  love  together." 

Silent  caresses  were  all  that  passed  between 
them  for  some  moments ;  then  Mr.  Dinsmore 
inquired  if  his  friend  had  any  directions  to  give 
about  his  affairs. 

"$Q,"  he  said,  "  all  that  was  attended  to  long 
since.  Elsie  knows  where  to  find  all  my  papers, 
and  understands  everything  in  regard  to  the 
property  and  my  business  matters  as  well  as  I  do. 

"  And  my  peace  is  made  with  God,"  he  con- 
tinued after  a  pause,  speaking  in  a  sweetly 
solemn  tone.  "  His  presence  is  with  me,  I 
feel  the  everlasting  arms  underneath  and  around 
me.  All  my  hope  and  trust  are  in  the  blood 
and  righteousness  of  Christ,  my  crucified  and 
risen  Saviour.  All  is  peace.  I  am  a  sinner 
saved  by  grace. 

"  Let  me  see  my  children  and  give  them  a 
father's  blessing,  and  I  shall  have  nothing  more 
to  do  but  fall  asleep  in  Jesus." 

Elsie  and  Vi  were  together  in  a  room  across 
the  hall  from  that  in  which  their  father  lay, 
sitting  clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  waiting, 
hoping  for  the  promised  summons  to  go  to  him 
when  he  should  be  sufficiently  relieved  to  bear 
their  presence. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  37 

Ah,  there  was  in  each  young  heart  an  un- 
spoken fear  that  he  would  never  rise  from  that 
couch  of  pain,  for  they  had  seemed  to  read  his 
doom  in  the  grave,  anxious  faces  of  grandfather 
and  physicians  ;  but  oh  it  was  too  terrible  a  fear 
for  either  to  put  into  words  even  to  her  own 
consciousness  !  How  could  life  go  on  without  the 
father  who  had  thus  far  constituted  so  large  a 
part  of  it  to  them  ! 

A  shuffling  step  drew  near,  and  Aunt  Chloe 
appeared  before  them,  her  face  swollen  with 
weeping,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  You's  to  come  now,  chillens." 

"  Oh  is  papa  better  ?"  they  cried,  starting  up 
in  eager  haste  to  obey  the  summons. 

The  old  nurse  shook  her  head,  tears  bursting 
forth  afresh.  "He's  mos'  dar,  chillens,  mos' 
dar,  whar  dey  don'  hab  no  mo'  pain,  no  mo'  sick- 
ness, no  mo'  dyin'.  I  see  de  glory  shinin'  m 
his  face  ;  he's  mos'  dar." 

Then  as  their  sobs  and  tears  burst  forth, 
"Oh  my  mistis,  my  bressed  young  mistis,"  she 
cried,  throwing  her  apron  over  her  head,  "  yo> 
ole  maminy'd  die  to  keep  massa  here  for  yo* 
sake.  But  de  Lord's  will  mus5  be  done,  an'  He 
ueber  makes  no  mistakes." 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

"Death  is  another  life." 

— Bailey. 

"  OH  Elsie,  Elsie,  what  shall  we  do  !  But  it 
can't,  it  can't  be  true  !"  sobbed  Violet,  clinging 
to  her  sister  in  a  heart-breaking  paroxysm  of 
grief.  "  Oh  it  will  kill  mamma,  and  we  shall 
lose  her  too !" 

"  No,  no,  honey,  not  so,"  said  Aunt  Chloe  ; 
"my  bressed  young  missus  will  lib  for  yo'  sake, 
for  her  chillens'  sake.  An'  you  ain't  gwine  to 
lose  massa  :  he's  only  gwine  home  a  little  while 
'fore  de  rest," 

"Dear  Vi,  we  must  try  to  be  composed  for 
both  their  sakes,"  whispered  Elsie,  scarcely  able 
to  speak  for  weeping. 

"  Dear  bressed  Lord  help  dem,  help  dese  po' 
chillens,"  ejaculated  Aunt  Chloe.  "  Come,  chil- 
lens, we's  losin'  precious  time." 

They  wiped  away  their  tears,  checked  their 
sobs  by  a  determined  effort,  and  hand  in  hand 
followed  her  to  the  sick-room. 

Perfect  ease  had  taken  the  place  of  the  ago- 
nizing pain  which  for  many  hours  had  racked 
Mr.  Travilla's  frame,  but  it  was  the  relief  af- 
forded not  by  returning  health,  but  by  approach- 
ing dissolution  ;  death's  seal  was  on  his  brow  ; 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  39 

even  his  children  could  read  it  as  they  gathered, 
weeping,  about  his  bed. 

He  had  a  few  words  of  fatherly  counsel,  of 
tender,  loving  farewell  for  each — Elsie,  Violet, 
Edward  : — to  the  last  saying,  "  My  son,  I  com- 
mit your  mother  to  your  tender  care.  You 
have  almost  reached  man's  estate ;  take  your 
father's  place,  and  let  her  lean  on  your  young, 
vigorous  arm  ;  yet  fail  not  in  filial  reverence  and 
obedience ;  be  ever  ready  to  yield  to  her  wise, 
gentle  guidance. 

"  I  will,  father,  I  will,"  returned  the  lad  in  a 
choking  voice. 

"And  may  not  I  too,  and  Herbert,  papa?" 
sobbed  Harold. 

"Yes,  dear  son,  and  all  of  you,  love  and 
cherish  mamma  and  try  to  fill  my  place  to  her. 
And  love  and  obey  your  kind  grandpa  as  you 
have  always  loved  and  obeyed  me." 

One  after  another  had  received  a  last  caress,  a 
special  parting  word,  till  it  had  come  to  the 
turn  of  the  youngest  darling  of  all — little  four- 
year-old  Walter. 

They  lifted  him  on  to  the  bed,  and  creeping 
close  to  his  father,  he  softly  stroked  the  dying 
face,  and  kissing  the  lips,  the  cheeks,  the  brow, 
cooed  in  sweet  baby  accents,  "Me  so  glad  to 
see  my  dear  papa.  Papa  doin'  det  well  now. 
Isn't  you,  papa?" 

"  Yes,  papa's  dear  pet;  I'm  going  where  sick- 


40  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

ness  and  pain  can  never  come.  My  little  boy  must 
love  the  dear  Saviour  and  trust  in  him,  and  then 
one  day  he  shall  follow  me  to  that  blessed  land. 
Ah,  little  son,  you  are  too  young  to  remember 
your  father.  He  will  soon  be  forgotten!" 

"No,  no,  dearest,"  said  his  weeping  wife, 
"  not  so;  your  pictured  face  and  our  constant 
mention  of  you  shall  keep  you  in  remembrance 
even  with  him." 

"  Thanks,  dearest,"  he  said,  turning  a  loving 
gaze  on  her,  "it  is  a  pleasant  thought  that  my 
name  will  not  be  a  forgotten  sound  among  the 
dear  ones  left  behind.  We  shall  meet  again, 
beloved  wife,  meet  again  beyond  the  river.  I 
shall  be  waiting  for  you  on  the  farther  shore. 
I  am  passing  through  the  waters,  but  He  is  with 
me,  He  who  hath  washed  me  from  my  sins  in 
His  own  blood.  And  you,  dearest  wife — does 
He  sustain  you  in  this  hour?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "His  grace  is  sufficient  for 
me.  Dear,  dear  husband,  do  not  fear  to  leave 
me  to  his  care." 

Tears  were  coursing  down  her  white  cheeks, 
but  the  low,  sweet  tones  of  her  voice  were  calm 
and  even.  She  was  resolutely  putting  aside  all 
thought  of  self  and  the  sore  bereavement  that 
awaited  her  and  her  children,  that  she  might 
smooth  his  passage  to  the  tomb;  she  would  not 
that  he  should  be  disturbed  by  one  anxious 
thought  of  them. 


ELSIE' 8  WIDOWHOOD.  41 

He  forgot  none  of  his  household.  Molly  and 
her  mother  were  brought  in  for  a  gentle,  loving 
farewell  word;  then  each  of  the  servants. 

He  lingered  still  for  some  hours,  but  his  wife 
never  left  him  for  an  instant ;  her  hand  was 
clasped  in  his  when  the  messenger  came;  his 
last  look  of  love  was  for  her,  his  last  whisper, 
"  Precious  little  wife,  eternity  is  ours  !" 

Friends  carried  him  to  his  quiet  resting  place 
beside  the  little  daughter  who  had  preceded 
him  to  the  better  land,  and  widow  and  children 
returned  without  him  to  the  home  hitherto 
made  so  bright  and  happy  by  his  loved  presence. 

Elsie,  leaning  on  her  fathers  arm,  slowly 
ascended  the  steps  of  the  veranda,  but  on  the 
threshold  drew  back  with  a  shudder  and  a  low, 
gasping  sob. 

Her  father  drew  her  to  his  breast. 

"  My  darling,  do  not  go  in.  Come  with  me 
to  the  Oaks ;  let  me  take  you  all  there  for  a 
time." 

"'No,  dear  papa;  'twould  be  but  putting  off 
the  evil  day — the  trial  that  must  be  borne 
sooner  or  later,"  she  said  in  trembling,  tearful 
tones.  "  But— if  you  will  stay  with  me — " 

"  Surely,  dearest,  as  long  as  you  will.  I 
could  not  leave  you  now,  my  poor  stricken  one! 
Let  me  assist  you  to  your  room.  You  are  com- 
pletely worn  out,  and  must  take  some  rest." 

"  My  poor  children — "  she  faltered. 


42  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  For  their  sakes  you  must  take  care  of  your, 
self, "  he  said .  < t  Your  mamma  is  here.  She  and. 
I  will  take  charge  of  everything  until  you  are 
able  to  resume  your  duties  as  mother  and  mis- 


He  led  her  to  her  apartments,  made  her  lie 
down  on  a  couch,  darkened  the  room,  and  sit- 
ting down  beside  her,  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"Papa,  papa!"  she  cried,  starting  up  in  a 
sudden  burst  of  grief,  "  take  me  in  your  arms, 
take  me  in  your  arms  and  hold  me  close  as  you 
used  to  do,  as  he  has  done  every  day  that  he 
lived  since  you  gave  me  to  him!" 

"  My  poor  darling,  my  poor  darling!"  he  said, 
straining  her  to  his  breast,  "  God  comfort  you! 
May  He  be  the  strength  of  your  heart  and  your 
portion  forever!  Eemember  that  Jesus  still  lives, 
and  that  your  beloved  one  is  with  Him,  rejoic- 
ing with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory." 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  oh,  the  learning  to  live  with, 
out  him!"  she  moaned.  "How  can  I!  how 
can  I!" 

"'When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I 
will  be  with  thee;  and  through  the  rivers,  they 
shall  not  overflow  thee;  when  thou  walkest 
through  the  fire,  thou  shalt  not  be  burned, 
neither  shall  the  flame  kindle  upon  thee.  For  I 
am  the  Lord  thy  God,  the  Holy  One  of  Israel, 
thy  Saviour,' "  he  repeated  in  low,  moved  tones. 
"  '  Behold  I  have  refined  thee,  but  not  with  sil- 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  43 

ver«,  I  have  chosen  thee  in  the  furnace  of  afflic- 
tion.' Dear  daughter,  my  heart  bleeds  for  you, 
and  yet  I  know  that  He  who  has  sent  this  sorrow 
loves  you  far  better  than  I  do,  and  He  means  it 
for  good.  '  Faith  is  the  better  of  the  free  air 
and  of  the  sharp  winter  storm  in  its  face.  Grace 
withereth  without  adversity.' " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  whispered,  clinging  to  him. 
"Go  on,  dear  papa,  you  bring  me  comfort." 

"  What  so  comforting  as  the  love  of  Christ!" 
he  went  on;  "the  assurance  that  *  in  all  our 
afflictions  He  is  afflicted!'  My  darling,  'the 
weightiest  end  of  the  cross  of  Christ,  which  is 
laid  upon  you,  lieth  upon  your  strong  Saviour! '  " 

"And  He  will  never  let  me  sink,"  she  said. 
"Oh  what  love  is  His!  and  how  unworthy 
am  I!" 

Never  very  strong,  Elsie  was,  as  her  father 
plainly  perceived,  greatly  exhausted  by  the  com- 
bined influence  of  the  fatigue  of  nursing,  over- 
whelming sorrow  and  the  constraint  she  had  put 
upon  herself  to  control  its  manifestations  while 
her  husband  lived. 

She  must  have  rest  from  every  care  and  re- 
sponsibility, must  be  shielded  from  all  annoy- 
ance, and  as  far  as  possible  from  every  fresh, 
reminder  of  her  loss. 

For  several  days  he  watched  over  her  with 
unceasing  care  and  solicitude,  doing  all  in  hi? 
•lower  to  soothe,  to  comfort  and  console,  allow- 


44  ELSIE'S 

ing  only  short  interviews  with  Rose  and  the  chil- 
dren, and  keeping  every  one  else  away  except  her 
old  mammy. 

Never  had  father  and  daughter  seemed  nearer 
and  dearer  to  each  other  than  in  these  sorrowful 
days.  To  lay  her  weary  head  upon  his  breast 
while  his  arms  folded  her  close  to  his  heart, 
gave  some  relief — more  than  could  anything 
else — to  the  unutterable  longing  to  feel  the  clasp 
of  those  other  arms  whose  loving  embrace  she 
could  never  know  again  on  earth. 

But  her  nature  was  too  unselfish  and  affection- 
ate to  allow  of  long  indulgence  in  this  life  of 
inactivity  and,  nursing  of  her  grief.  She  could 
not  resist  the  anxious,  pleading  looks  of  her 
children.  She,  their  only  remaining  parent, 
must  now  devote  herself  to  them  even  more 
entirely  than  had  been  her  wont.  Grandma 
Eose  was  kind  as  kind  could  be,  but  mamma's 
place  could  be  filled  by  no  one  but  herself. 

"  Dear  papa,"  she  said  when  three  days  had 
passed,  "  I  am  rested  now,  and  you  must  please 
let  me  go  back  to  my  duties.  My  dear  little 
ones  need  me ;  the  older  ones  too.  I  cannot 
deprive  them  of  their  mother  any  longer." 

"  Would  it  not  be  well  to  give  yourself  one 
more  day  of  rest  ?"  he  asked,  gazing  sadly  at 
the  wan  cheeks  and  the  mournful  eyes  that 
looked  so  unnaturally  large.  "I  do  not  think 
you  are  strong  enough  yet  for  anything  like 
exertion." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  45 

"  I  think  the  sweet  work  of  comforting  and 
caring  for  my  darlings — his  children  as  well  as 
mine,"  she  said  with  a  tremble  in  her  voice, 
"will  do  me  good." 

"  It  is  partly  for  their  sakes  that  I  want  you 
to  take  care  of  yourself,"  he  said,  putting  his 
arm  about  her,  while  her  head  dropped  on  his 
shoulder.  "  Would  it  not  have  been  his  wish  ? 
were  you  not  always  his  first  care  ?" 

She  gave  a  silent  assent,  the  tears  coursing 
down  her  cheeks. 

"  And  he  gave  you  back  to  me,  making  you 
doubly  mine — my  own  darling,  precious  child  ! 
and  your  life,  health  and  happiness  must  be 
my  special  charge,"  he  said,  caressing  her  with 
exceeding  tenderness. 

"  My  happiness  ?  Then,  papa,  you  will  not 
try  to  keep  me  from  my  darlings.  My  dear, 
dear  father,  do  not  think  I  am  ungrateful  for 
your  loving  care.  Ah,  it  is  very  sweet  and  rest- 
ful-to  lean  upon  you  and  feel  the  strong  tender 
clasp  of  your  arm  !  but  I  must  rouse  myself  and 
become  a  prop  for  others  to  lean  upon." 

"  Yes,  to  some  extent — when  you  are  quite 
rested.  But  you  must  bear  no  burdens,  dear 
daughter,  that  your  father  can  bear  for  you." 

She  looked  her  gratitude  out  of  tear-dimmed 
eyos. 

"  God  has  been  very  good  to  me,  in  sparing 
me,  my  father,"  she  said.  "And  my  children, 


46  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

my  seven  darlings — all  good  and  loving.  How 
rich  I  ought  to  feel  J  lloiv  rich  I  do  feel,  though 
so  sorely  bereaved." 

The  tears  burst  forth  afresh. 

"  You  will  let  me  go  to  them  ?"  she  said  when 
she  could  s'peak  again. 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  will  try  to  rest  and  gain 
strength  to-day.  I  am  quite  sure  it  is  what  he 
would  have  wished — that  you  should  rest  a 
little  longer. v  The  children  can  come  to  you 
for  an  hour  or  two  to-day." 

She  yielded  for  that  time,  aud  the  next  day  he 
withdrew  his  opposition  and  himself  led  her 
down  to  thfe  breakfast  parlour,  where  all  were 
gathered  to  partake  of  the  morning  meal. 


CHAPTEE  Y. 

"  Weep  not  for  him  that  dieth, 
For  he  hath  ceased  from  tears." 

— Mrs.  Norton. 

THERE  was  much  unselfish  love  for  their  mam- 
ma and  for  each  other  displayed  by  the  young 
Travillas  in  those  sad  days  immediately  follow- 
ing the  death  of  their  dearly  loved  father. 

Every  heart  ached  sorely  with  its  own  burden  of 
grief — excepting  that  of  little  Walter,  who  was 
too  young  to  understand  or  realize  his  loss,  yet 
was  most  solicitous  to  assuage  that  of  the 
brothers  and  sisters,  but  especially  to  comfort 
and  help  "poor,  dear,  dear  mamma." 

They  were  filled  with  alarm  as  they  saw 
their  grandfather  almost  carry  her  to  her  room, 
then  close  the  door  upon  them. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Violet,  clinging  to  her  older 
sister,  and  giving  way  to  a  burst  of  terrified 
weeping,  "  I  knew  it  would  be  so  !  mamma 
will  die  too.  Oh  mamma,  mamma  !" 

"  Dear  child,  no  !"  said  Eose,  laying  a  caress- 
Ing  hand  on  the  young  weeper's  arm  ;  "  do  not 
be  alarmed  ;  your  dear  mother  is  worn  out  with 
grief  and  nursing — she  has  scarcely  slept  for 
several  days  and  nights — but  is  not  ill  otherwise, 
and  I  trust  that  rest  and  the  consolations  of  God 


4g  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

will  still  restore  her  to  her  wonted  health  and 
cheerfulness." 

"  0  grandma,"  sobbed  Elsie,  '  do  you  think 
mamma  can  ever  be  cheerful  and  happy  again  ? 
I  am  sure  she  can  never  forget  papa." 

"No,  she  will  never  forget  him,  never  cease 
^o  miss  the  delight  of  his  companionship  ;  but 
she  can  learn  to  be  happy  in  the  thought  of  his 
eternal  blessedness  and  the  sure  reunion  that 
awaits  them  when  God  shall  call  her  home  ;  and 
in  the  love  of  Jesus  and  of  her  dear  chil- 
dren." 

Hose  had  thrown  one  arm  about  Elsie's  waist, 
the  other  round  Violet,  and  drawn  them  to  a 
eeat,  while  Edward  and  the  younger  children 
grouped  themselves  about  her,  Rose  and  "Walter 
leaning  on  her  lap. 

They  all  loved  her,  and  now  hung  upon  her 
words,  finding  comfort  in  them,  though  listen- 
ing with  many  tears  and  sobs. 

She  went  on  to  speak  at  length  of  the  glory 
and  bliss  of  heaven,  of  the  joy  of  being  with 
Christ  and  free  from  sin ;  done  with  sorrow  and 
sighing,  pain  and  sickness  and  death ;  of  the 
delight  with  which  their  sister  Lily,  their  Grand- 
mother Travilla,  and  other  dear  ones  gone  be- 
fore, must  have  welcomed  the  coming  of  their 
father  ;  and  of  the  glad  greeting  he  would  give 
to  each  of  them  when  they  too  should  reach- 
the  gate  of  the  Celestial  City. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  49 

"Yes,  grandma,  papa  told  us  all  to  come/' 
said  little  Kosie. 

"  I  know  he  did,  dear  child ;  and  do  you 
know  the  way  ?" 

"  Yes,  grandma,  Jesus  said,  '  1  am  the  way.' 
He  died  to  save  sinners,  and  He  will  save  all  who 
love  Him  and  trust  in  Him  alone,  not  thinking 
anything  they  can  do  is  going  to  help  to  save 
them." 

"  Save  them  from  what,  darling  ?" 

"From  their  sins,  grandma,  and  from  going 
to  live  with  Satan  and  his  wicked  angels,  and 
wicked  people  that  die  and  go  there." 

"  Yes,  that  is  all  so,  and  oh  what  love  it  was 
that  led  the  dear  Saviour  to  suffer  and  die  upon 
the  cross  that  we  might  live  !  Dear  children, 
it  was  His  death  that  bought  eternal  life  for 
your  beloved  father  and  has  purchased  it  for  us 
all  if  we  will  but  take  it  as  His  free,  unmerited 
gift."  ' 

"But,  grandma,"  sobbed  Harold,  "why 
didn't  He  let  our  dear  papa  stay  with  us  a  little 
longer  ?  Oh  I  don't  know  how  we  can  ever,  ever 
live  without  him!" 

This  called  forth  a  fresh  burst  of  grief  from 
all,  even  little  Walter  crying piteously,  "I  want 
my  papa  !  I  want  my  own  dear  papa!" 

Rose  lifted  him  to  her  lap  and  caressed  him 
tenderly,  her  tears  falling  fast." 

"Dear  children,"  she  said,  as  the  storm  of 


50  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

grief  subsided  a  little,  "  we  must  not  be  selfish 
in  our  sorrow ;  we  must  try  to  rejoice  that  your 
beloved  father  is  far,  far  happier  than  he  conld 
ever  be  here.  I  think  the  dear  Saviour  took  him 
home  because  He  loved  him  so  much  that  He 
could  no  longer  spare  him  out  of  heaven.  And 
He,  Jesus,  will  be  your  Father  now  even  more 
than  He  was  before:  '  A  father  of  the  fatherless 
and  a  judge  of  the  widows  is  God  in  his  holy 
habitation.'" 

"  I'm  veiy  glad  the  Bible  tells  us  that,"  re- 
marked Herbert,  checking  his  sobs.  "  I  have 
heard  and  read  the  words  often,  but  they  never 
Beemed  half  so  sweet  before." 

"  No,"  said  Harold,  putting  an  arm  about  him 
(the  two  were  very  strongly  attached  and  almost 
inseparable);  "and  we  have  grandpa  too  :  papa 
said  he  would  be  a  father  to  us." 

"And  he  will,  dear  children,"  said  Rose.  "  1  do 
not  think  he  could  love  you  much  more  than  he 
does  if  he  were  really  your  own  father,  as  he  is 
your  dear  mamma's." 

"  And  I  am  to  try  to  fill  papa's  place,"  said 
Edward,  with  a  strong  but  vain  effort  to  steady 
his  voice.  "  I  am  far  from  competent,  I  know, 
but  I  shall  try  to  do  my  very  best." 

"  And  God  will  help  you  if  you  ask  Him," 
said  Rose  ;  "help  you  to  be  a  great  comfort  and 
assistance  to  your  mother  and  younger  brothers 
and  sisters."  • 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  5J 

"  Ah,  if  we  might  only  go  to  mamma!"  sigh- 
ed Violet,  when  she  and  Elsie  had  withdrawn  to 
the  privacy  of  their  own  apartment.  "  Do  you 
think  we  might  venture  now?" 

"  Not  yet  awhile,  I  think — I  hope  she  is  rest- 
ing ;  and  grandpa  will  let  us  know  when  it  will 
not  disturb  her  to  see  us." 

"  0  Elsie,  can  we  ever  be  happy  again?"  cried 
Violet,  throwing  herself  into  her  sister's  arms. 
"  Where,  where  shall  we  go  for  comfort?" 

"  To  Jesus  and  His  word,  dear  Vi.  Let  us 
kneel  down  together  and  ask  Him  to  bless  us  ail 
and  help  us  to  say  with  our  hearts  '  Thy  will  be 
done,'  all  of  us  children  and  our  dear  precious 
mamma." 

"  Oh  we  can't  pray  for  papa  any  more!"  cried 
Vi,  in  an  agony  of  grief. 

"No,  dear  Vi,  but  he  no  longer  needs  our 
prayers.  He  is  so  close  to  the  Master,  so  happy 
in  being  forever  with  Him,  that  nothing  could 
add  to  his  bliss." 

Violet  hushed  her  sobs,  and  with  their  arms 
about  each  other  they  knelt,  while  in  low,  plead- 
ing tones  Elsie  poured  out  their  grief  and  their 
petitions  into  the  ear  of  the  ever  compassionate, 
loving  Saviour. 

Fortunately  for  them  in  this  hour  of  sore  af- 
fliction, they  were  no  strangers  to  prayer  or  to 
the  Scriptures,  and  knew  where  to  turn  to  find 
the  many  sweet  and  precious  promises  suited  to 
their  needs. 


52  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Some  time  was  given  to  this,  and  then  Elsie, 
mindful  of  the  duty  and  privilege  of  filling  to 
the  best  of  her  ability  her  mother's  place  to  the 
little  ones,  went  in  search  of  them. 

The  tea  hour  brought  them  all  together 
again — all  the  children — but  father  and  mother 
were  missing.  Oh  this  gathering  about  the 
table  was  almost  the  hardest  thing  of  all !  It 
had  been  wont  to  be  a  time  of  glad,  free,  cheer- 
ful, often  mirthful  intercourse  between  parents 
and  children;  no  rude  and  noisy  hilarity,  but 
the  most  enjoyable  social  converse  and  inter- 
change of  thought  and  feeling,  in  which  the 
young  people,  while  showing  the  most  perfect 
respect  and  deference  to  their  parents,  and  un- 
eelfish  consideration  for  each  other,  were  yet 
under  no  galling  constraint,  but  might  ask 
questions  and  give  free  expression  to  their  opin- 
ions, if  they  wished ;  and  were  indeed  encour- 
aged to  do  so. 

But  what  a  change  had  a  few  days  brought  3 
There  was  an  empty  chair  that  would  never 
again  be  filled  by  him  to  whom  one  and  all  had 
looked  up  with  the  tenderest  filial  love  and  rev- 
erence. All  eyes  turned  toward  it,  then  were 
suffused  with  tears,  while  one  and  another  vain- 
ly strove  to  suppress  the  bursting  sobs. 

They  could  not  sit  down  to  the  table.  They 
drew  close  together  in  a  little  weeping  group. 

The  grandparents  came  in,  and  Mr.  Dinsmore, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  53 

trying  to  gather  them  all  in  his  arms,  caressed 
them  iii  turn,  saying  in  broken,  tender  tones, 
"  My  dear  children,  my  poor  dear  children  !  I 
will  be  a  father  to  you.  I  cannot  supply  his 
place,  but  will  do  so  as  nearly  as  I  can.  You 
know,  my  darlings,  my  sweet  Elsie's  children, 
that  I  have  a  father's  love  for  you." 

"Yes,  grandpa,  we  know  it,"  "Dear grand- 
pa, we're  glad  we  have  you  left  to  us,"  sobbed 
one  and  another. 

"And  mamma,  dear,  precious  mamma!  O 
grandpa,  is  she  sick?" 

"  Not  exactly  sick,  my  darlings,"  he  said, 
"but  very  much  worn  out.  We  must  let  her 
rest.1' 

"  Can't  we  see  her  ?  can't  we  go  to  her?" 

"  Not  now,  not  to-night,  I  think.  I  left  her 
sleeping,  and  hope  she  will  not  wake  for  some 
hours." 

At  that  the  little  ones  seemed  nearly  heart- 
broken. "How  could  they  go  to  their  beds 
without  seeing  mamma?" 

But  Elsie  comforted  them.  She  would  help 
mammy  to  put  them  to  bed  ;  and  oh  it  was  the 
best  of  news  that  dear  mamma  was  sleeping! 
because  if  she  did  not  she  would  soon  be  quite 
ill. 

Molly  Percival,  because  of  her  crippled  con- 
dition, making  locomotion  so  difficult,  seldom 
joined  the  family  at  table,  but  took  her  meals  in 


54  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

her  own  room,  a  servant  waiting  upon  her  and 
her  mother,  who,  in  her  new  devotion  to  poor 
Molly,  preferred  to  eat  with  her. 

The  appointments  of  their  table  were  quite  as 
dainty  as  those  of  the  other,  the  fare  never  less 
luxurious. 

A  very  tempting  repast  was  spread  before 
them  to-night,  but  Molly  could  not  eat  for 
weeping. 

Her  mother,  tasting  one  dish  after  another 
with  evident  enjoyment,  at  length  thought  fit 
to  expostulate  with  her. 

"  Molly,  why  do  you  cry  so  ?  I  do  wish  yon 
would  stop  it  and  eat  your  supper." 

"I'm  not  hungry,  mother."' 

"  That's  only  because  you're  fretting  so  ;  and 
what's  the  use  ?  Mr.  Travilla's  better  off ;  and 
besides  he  was  nothing  to  you." 

"Nothing  to  me!  0  mother!  he  was  so 
good,  so  kind  to  me,  to  Dick,  to  everybody 
about  him.  He  treated  me  like  a  daughter, 
and  I  loved  him  as  well  as  if  he  had  been  my 
own  father.  He  did  not  forget  you  or  me  when 
he  was  dying,  mother." 

"  No ;  and  it  was  good  «of  him.     Still,  cry- 
ing doesn't  do  any  good  ;  and  you'll  get  weak 
.a»a  sick  if  you  don't  eat." 
'      Molly's  only  answer  was  a  burst  of  grief. 
*'  Oh  poor,  poor  Cousin  Elsie  !  her  heart  must 
fee  quite  broken,  for  she  idolized  her  husband, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  55 

And  the  girls  and  all  of  them ;  how  they  did 
love  their  father !" 

The  servant  came  in  with  a  plate  of  hot  cakes, 
and  a  slender  girlish  figure  presently  stole  softly 
after,  without  knocking,  for  the  door  stood  open, 
and  to  the  side  of  Molly's  chair.  It  was  "Violet, 
looking,  oh  so  sad  and  sweet,  so  fair  and  spirit- 
uel  in  her  deep  mourning  dress. 

In  an  instant  she  and  Molly  were  locked  in 
each  other's  arms,  mingling  their  sobs  and  tears 
together. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  have  seemed  to  neglect  you, 
Molly  dear,"  Violet  said  when  she  could  speak- 
"but—" 

"No,  no,  you  have  never  done  that !"  cried 
Molly,  weeping  afresh.  "  Ant"  how  could  I 
expect  you  to  think  of  me  at  such  a  time  !  O 
Vi,  Vi !" 

"  Mamma  cannot  come  up,  for  she  is  not — • 
not  able  to  leave  her  room,  and — and  0  Molly, 
I'm  afraid  she's  going  to  be  sick  !" 

Molly  tried  to  comfort  and  reassure  her. 
"  Aunt  Hose  was  in  for  a  while  this  afternoon," 
she  said,  "and  she  thinks  it  is  not  really  sick- 
ness, only  that  she  needs  rest  and — and  comfort. 
And,  Vi,  the  Lord  will  comfort  her.  Don't  you 
remember  those  sweet  words  in  Isaiah  ? — *  As 
one  whom  his  mother  comf  orteth,  so  will  I  com- 
fort you  ;  and  ye  shall  be  comforted.'" 

Violet  had  come  up  to  see  Molly,  lest  the  poor 


56  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 


afflicted  cousin  should  feel  neglected, 
Elsie  was  engaged  with  the  little  ones  —  taking 
mamma's  place  in  seeing  them  to  bed  with  a  lit- 
tle loving  talk  on  some  profitable  theme. 

To-night  it  was  the  glory  and  bliss  o  heaven; 
leaving  in  their  young  minds,  instead  -  t  gloomy 
and  dreadful  thoughts  of  death  an<J  the  cold, 
dark  grave,  bright  visions  of  angelic  choirs,  of 
white  robes  and  palms  of  victory,  of  golden 
crowns  and  harps,  of  the  river  of  the  water  of 
life,  and  the  beautiful  trees  on  its  banks  bearing 
twelve  manner  of  fruits  ;  of  papa  with  sweet 
Lily  by  his  side,  both  casting  their  crowns  at 
Jesus'  feet  and  singing  with  glad  voices, 
"Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  was  slain." 

Leaving  them  at  length  to  their  slumbers,  she 
joined  Violet  and  Molly  for  a  few  moments  ; 
then  Edward  came  to  say  that  their  mother  was 
awake  and  grandpa  had  given  permission 
for  them  to  go  to  her  and  just  bid  her  good- 
night, if  they  could  be  quite  composed. 

They  thought  they  could;  they  would  try 
very  earnestly. 

She  was  in  her  dressing-room,  reclining  in  aa 
easy  chair,  looking,  oh  so  wan  and  sorrowful. 

She  embraced  each  in  turn,  holding  them  to 
her  heart  with  a  whispered  word  or  two  of  ten- 
der mother  love.  "  God  bless  you,  my  dear,  deal 
children  !  He  will  be  a  father  to  the  fatherless 
and  never  leave  nor  forsake  you." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  57 

Violet  dared  not  trast  herself  to  speak.  Elsie 
only  murmured,  "  Dear,  dearest  mamma !" 
and  Edward,  "  Darling,  precious  mother,  don't 
grieve  too  sorely." 

"  The  consolations  of  God  are  not  small  !  my 
dear  son,"  was  all  she  said  in  reply,  and  they 
withdrew  softly  and  silently  as  they  had  come. 

The  next  morning  and  each  following  day 
they  were  all  allowed  a  few  moments  with  her, 
until  four  days  had  passed. 

On  the  fifth,  as  we  have  said,  she  came  down  to 
the  breakfast  room  leaning  on  her  father's  arm. 

As  they  neared  the  door  she  paused,  trembling 
like  a  leaf,  and  turning  to  him  a  white,  anguished 
face. 

He  knew  what  it  meant.  She  had  not  been 
in  that  room,  had  not  taken  her  plaoe  at  that 
table,  since  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  hei 
husband  was  taken  ill.  He  was  with  her  then, 
in  apparently  perfect  health;  now — the  places 
which  had  known  him  on  earth  would  know 
him  no  more  forever. 

Her  head  dropped  on  her  father's  shoulder, 
a  low  moan  escaping  her  pale  lips. 

"Dear  child,"  he  said,  drawing  her  closer  to 
him,  and  tenderly  kissing  her  brow,  "  think 
how  perfectly  happy,  how  blest  he  is.  You 
would  not  call  him  back?" 

"  Oh  no,  no!"  came  from  the  quivering  lips. 
"  *  The  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  is  weak? ' " 


58  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"Lean  on  your  strong  Saviour,"  he  said, 
"and  His  grace  will  be  sufficient  for  you." 

She  sent  up  a  silent  petition,  then  lifting  her 
head,  "  I  can  bear  it  now — He  will  help  ine," 
she  said,  and  suffered  him  to  lead  her  in. 

Her  children  gathered  about  her  with  a  joy 
that  was  as  a  cordial  to  her  fainting  spirit ; 
their  love  was  very  sweet. 

But  how  her  heart  yearned  over  them  because 
they  were  fatherless;  all  the  more  so  that  she 
found  her  father's  love  so  precious  and  sustain- 
ing in  this  time  of  sorrow  and  bereavement. 

He  led  her  to  her  accustomed  seat,  bent  over 
her  with  a  whispered  word  of  love  and  encour- 
agement, then  took  the  one  opposite — once  her 
husband's,  now  his  no  more. 

Perhaps  it  was  not  quite  so  hard  as  to  have 
seen  it  empty,  but  it  cost  a  heroic  effort  to  re- 
strain a  burst  of  anguish. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

"  Happy  he 

With  uneli  a  mother !  faith  in  womankind 
Beats  with  his  blood,  and  trust  in  all  things  hig.. 
Comes  easy  to  him,  and  though  he  trip  and  fall 
He  shail  not  blind  his  soul  with  clay." 

— Tennyson. 

LIFE  at  Ion  moved  on  in  its  accustomed  quiet 
course,  Mr.  Travilla's  removal  seeming,  to  out- 
siders, to  have  made  very  little  change  except 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dinsmore  now  took  up  their 
abode  there  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time, 
leaving  the  younger  Horace  and  his  wife  in. 
charge  at  the  Oaks. 

An  arrangement  for  which  Elsie  was  very 
thankful,  for  her  father's  presence  and  his  love 
were  as  balm  to  her  wounded  spirit. 

Her  strongest  support  in  this,  as  in  every  trial 
of  her  life,  was  in  her  almighty  Saviour;  on  Him 
she  leaned  every  hour  with  a  simple  childlike 
faith  and  confidence  in  His  unerring  wisdom 
and  infinite  love  ;  but  it  was  very  sweet  to  lean 
somewhat  upon  the  strength  and  wisdom  of  the 
earthly  father  also,  and  to  feel  that  the  shield 
of  his  care  and  protection  was  interposed  be- 
tween her  and  the  cold  world. 

Both  his  and  Hose's  companionship  had  ever 


GO  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

been  delightful  to  her,  and  were  now  a  great 
solace  and  pleasure. 

She  gave  no  indulgence  to  a  spirit  of  repining 
because  her  chief  earthly  treasure  had  been 
taken  from  her  for  the  remainder  of  her  life  in 
this  world,  but  was  filled  with  gratitude  for 
those  blessings  that  were  left,  ever  deeming 
God's  goodness  to  her  far  beyond  her  deserts. 

And  her  own  sorrow  was  often  half  forgotten 
in  tender  compassion  for  her  fatherless  children. 
For  their  sakes,  as  well  as  because  such  was  her 
Christian  duty,  she  strove  after  a  constant  abid- 
ing cheerfulness;  and  not  without  success. 

But  it  was  not  sought  in  forgetfulness  of  the 
dear  one  gone.  They  talked  freely  and  tenderly 
of  him,  his  looks,  his  words,  his  ways  ;.  his  pres- 
ent happiness  and  the  joy  of  the  coming  reunion 
with  him.  He  was  not  dead  to  them,  but  liv- 
ing in  the  blessed  land  where  death  could  never 
enter,  a  land  that  grew  more  real  and  attractive 
because  he  was  there. 

Elsie  found  great  comfort  in  her  children — 
dear  as  her  own  offspring,  and  dearer  still  be- 
cause they  were  his  also.  1'hey  were  very  good 
and  obedient,  loving  her  so  devotedly  that  the 
Tery  thought  of  grieving  her  was  pain. 

Her  unselfish  love  seemed  to  call  forth  its  coun- 
terpart in  them:  they  vied  with  each  other  in 
earnest  efforts  to  make  up  to  her  the  loss  of 
their  father's  love  and  ever  watchful  tender  care. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  61 

They  were  very  fond  of  their  grandfather  too, 
and  always  yielded  a  ready  obedience  to  his  coin- 
mands  or  directions. 

He  never  had  shown  to  them  the  sternness 
that  had  been  one  of  the  trials  of  their  mothers 
youthful  days,  but  was  patient  and  gentle,  as 
well  as  firm  and  decided.  Mr.  Travilla's  exam- 
ple as  a  father  had  not  been  wasted  on  him. 

He  was  wont  to  say  "  he  had  three  reasons 
for  loving  them — that  they  were  the  children  of 
his  friend,  Elsie's  children,  and  his  own  grand- 
children." 

It  was  very  evident  that  they  were  very  dear 
to  him,  and  they  loved  him  dearly  in  return. 

Mr.  Travilla  had  left  no  debts,  no  entangle- 
ments in  his  affairs;  his  will  was  short,  plainly 
expressed,  and  its  conditions  such  as  there  was 
no  difficulty  in  carrying  out. 

Elsie  and  her  father  were  joint  executors,  and 
were  associated  in  the  guardianship  of  the  chil- 
dren also.  The  estate  was  left  to  her  during 
her  natural  life,  to  Edward  after  her  death. 

Hitherto  the  education  of  all  the  sons  and 
daughters  had  been  carried  on  at  home,  but 
now  Edward  was  to  go  to  college. 

It  had  been  his  father's  decision,  and  his 
wishes  and  opinions  were  sacred  ;  so  neither  the 
lad  nor  any  one  else  raised  an  objection,  though 
all  felt  the  prospect  of  parting  sorely  just  at  this 


62  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

There  had.  been  some  talk  of  sending  Harold 
and  Herbert  away  also  to  a  preparatory  school; 
but  to  save  them  and  their  mother  the  pain  of 
separation,  Mr.  Dinsmore  offered  to  prepare 
them  to  enter  college. 

Elsie  was  in  fact  herself  competent  to  the 
task,  but  gladly  accepted  her  father's  offered  as- 
sistance; desiring  to  increase  as  much  as  possi- 
ble his  good  influence  over  her  boys,  hoping 
that  so  they  would  learn  to  emulate  all  that  was 
admirable  in  his  character. 

They  were  of  course  leading  a  very  quiet  and 
retired  life  at  Ion;  but  with  her  household  cares 
and  the  superintendence  of  the  education  of  her 
younger  children  to  attend  to  in  addition  to 
other  and  less  pressing  duties,  Elsie  was  in  nc 
danger  of  finding  time  hanging  heavy  on  her 
hands. 

One  of  the  numerous  demands  upon  her  ma- 
ternal responsibility  and  affection  was  found  in 
the  call  to  cheer,  comfort  and  console  her  name- 
sake daughter  under  the  trial  of  separation  from 
her  betrothed,  delay  in  hearing  from  him,  and 
a  morbid  remorse  on  account  of  having,  as  she 
expressed  it,  "  troubled  poor,  dear  papa  by  griev- 
ing and  fretting  over  Lester's  departure." 

"Dear  child,"  the  mother  said,  "he  sympa- 
thized with  but  did  not  blame  you,  and  would 
not  have  you  blame  yourself  so  severely  now  and 
embitter  your  life  with  unavailing  regrets.  He 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  63 

loyed  you  very,  very  dearly,  and  lias  often  said 
to  me,  '  Elsie  has  been  nothing  but  a  blessing 
to  us  since  the  hour  of  her  birth.' " 

"  0  mamma,  how  sweet!  Thank  you  for  tell- 
ing me,"  exclaimed  the  daughter,  tears  of  min- 
gled joy  and  sorrow  filling  her  eyes.  "  He  said 
it  once  to  me,  when  I  was  quite  a  little  girl — at 
the  time  grandpa — your  grandpa — and  Aunt 
Enna  were  hurt,  and  you  went  to  Roselands  to 
nurse  her,  leaving  me  at  home  to  try  to  fill  y?ur 
place.  Oh  I  shall  never  forget  how  dear  and 
kind  he  was  when  he  came  home  from  taking  you 
there!  how  he  took  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
me  and  said  those  very  words.  Mamma,  T  can- 
not recall  one  cross  word  ever  spoken  by  him  to 
me,  or  to  any  one." 

"•  No,  daughter,  nor  can  I;  he  was  most  kind, 
patient,  forbearing,  loving,  as  husband,  father, 
master — in  all  the  relations  of  life.  What  a 
privilege  to  have  been  his  cherished  wife  for  so 
many  years  !" 

The  sweet  voice  was  very  tremulous,  and  un- 
bidden tears  stole  over  the  fair  cheeks  that-  had 
not  quite  recovered  their  bloom;  for  scarce  a 
month  had  passed  since  the  angel  of  death  had 
come  between  her  beloved  and  herself. 

4 'Dear  mamma,  you  made  him  very  happy," 
whispered  Elsie,  clasping  her  close  with  loving 
caresses. 

"  Yes,  we  were  as  happy  together,  I  believe, 


04  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

as  it  is  possible  for  any  to  be  in  this  world  of  sin 
and  sorrow.  I  bless  God  that  he  was  spared  to 
me  so  long,  and  for  the  blessedness  that  now  is 
his,  and  the  sure  hope  that  this  separation  is 
but  for  a  season." 

"  Mamma,  it  is  that  sweet  hope  that  keeps  you 
from  sinking." 

"  Yes,  dearest,  that  and  the  sweet  love  and 
sympathy  of  Jesus.  My  father's  and  my  dear 
children's  love  does  greatly  help  me  also.  Ah 
how  great  is  the  goodness  of  my  heavenly  Father 
in  sparing  me  all  these  !  And  keeping  me  from 
poverty  too  ;  how  many  a  poor  widow  has  the 
added  pang  of  seeing  her  children  suffering  sore 
privations  or  scattered  among  strangers,  because 
she  lacks  the  ability  to  provide  them  with  food 
and  clothing." 

"  Mamma,  how  dreadful !"  cried  Elsie.  "  I 
had  never  thought  of  that.  How  thankful  we 
ought  to  be  that  we  do  not  have  to  be  separated 
from  you  or  from  each  other.  To  be  sure  Ed- 
ward is  going  away  for  a  time,  "  she  added,  with 
a  sigh  and  a  tear,"  but  it  is  not  to  toil  for  a 
livelihood  or  endure  privations." 

"No,  but  to  avail  himself  of  opportunities 
for  mental  culture  for  which  we  should  be  grate- 
ful as  still  another  of  the  many  blessings  God 
has  given  us.  He  will  be  exposed  to  tempta- 
tions such  as  would  never  assail  him  at  home : 
but  these  he  must  meet,  and  if  he  does  BO  look- 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  65 

ing  to  God  for  strength,  he  will  overcome  and 
be  all  the  stronger  for  the  conflict.  And  we, 
daughter,  must  follow  him  constantly  with  our 
prayers.  Thank  God  that  we  can  do  that  I" 

To  Edward  himself  she  spoke  in  the  same 
strain  in  a  last  private  talk  had  with  him  the 
night  before  he  went  away. 

"  I  know  that  you  have  a  very  strong  will  of 
your  own,  my  dear  boy,"  she  added,  "  and  are 
not  easily  led  ;  and  because  I  believe  it  to  be 
your  earnest  desire  and  purpose  to  walk  in  the 
way  of  God's  commands,  that  is  a  comfort  to  me." 

"  You  are  right  in  regard  to  both,  mother," 
lie  said  with  emotion  :  "and  oh  I  could  sooner 
cut  off  my  right  hand  than  do  aught  to  grieve 
you,  and  dishonor  the  memory  of — of  my  saint- 
ed father  !" 

"I  believe  it,  my  son,  but  do  not  trust  in  your 
own  strength.  '  Be  strong  in  the  Lord,  and  in 
the  power  of  his  might.'" 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  know,  I  feel  that  otherwise  I 
shall  fail;  but  •  I  can  do  all  things  through  Christ 
which  strengthened  me.'  Mother,"  he  added, 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  his  Bible  (they  had 
been  reading  together),  "  in  storing  my  memory 
with  the  teachings  of  this  blessed  book,  you  have 
given  me  the  best  possible  preparation  for  meet- 
ing the  temptations  and  snares  of  life." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  '  Thy  word  is  a  lamp  unto 
my  feet,  and  a  light  unto  my  path  ; '  f  Thy  tes- 


65  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

timonies  also  are  my  delight  and  my  counsellors.* 
Let  them  ever  be  yours,  my  son;  in  doubt  and 
perplexity  go  ever  to  them  for  direction— not 
forgetting  prayer  for  the  teachings  of  the  Holy 
Spirit — and  you  cannot  go  far  astray.  Make 
the  Bible  your  rule  of  faith  and  practice,  bring 
everything  to  the  test  of  Scripture.  'To  the 
law  and  to  the  testimony;  if  they  speak  not  ac- 
cording to  this  word,  it  >s  because  there  is  no 
light  in  them/  " 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  have  a  pretty 
clear  idea  of  some  of  the  temptations  of  college 
life:  doubtless  there  are  always  a  good  many  idle, 
profane,  drinking,  dissolute  fellows  among  the 
students,  but  it  does  not  seem  possible  that  I 
shall  ever  find  pleasure  in  the  society  of  such." 

"  I  hope  not  indeed! "  she  answered  with  em- 
phasis. "  It  would  be  a  sore  grief  to  me.  But 
I  hardly  fear  it;  I  believe  my  boy  is  a  Christian 
and  loves  purity:  loves  study  too  for  its  own 
sake.  What  I  most  fear  for  you  is  that  the  pride 
of  intellect  may  lead  you  to  listen  to  the  argu- 
ments of  sceptics  and  to  examine  their  works. 
My  son,  if  you  should,  you  will  probably  regret 
it  to  your  dying  day.  It  can  do  you  nothing  but 
harm.  If  you  fill  your  mind  with  such  things 
your  spiritual  foes  will  take  advantage  of  it  to 
harass  you  with  doubts  and  fears.  '  Blessed  is 
the  man  that  walketh  not  in  the  counsel  of  the 
ungodly,  nor  standeth  in  the  way  of  sinners^ 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  67 

nor  sitteth  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful.'  He  who 
would  rob  you  of  your  faith  in  God  and  His  holy 
word  is  your  greatest  enemy.  Study  the  evi- 
dences of  Christianity  and  be  ever  ready  to  give 
a  reason  for  the  hope  that  is  in  you." 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his, 
"  I  will  heed  your  counsels,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  having  seen  Christianity  so  beautifully  ex- 
emplified in  your  life  and  my  father's,  I  can 
never  doubt  its  truth  and  power." 

Then  after  a  pause  in  which  tears  of  mingled 
joy  and  sorrow  fell  freely  from  her  eyes,  "  Dear 
mother,  you  have  given  me  a  very  liberal  allow- 
ance. Can  you  spare  it  ?  I  do  not  know,  1 
have  never  known  the  amount  of  your  income." 

"  I  can  spare  it  perfectly  well,  my  son,"  she 
answered,  with  a  tender  smile,  pleased  at  this 
proof  of  his  thoughtful  love.  "  It  is  the  sum 
your  father  thought  best  to  give  you — for  we 
had  consulted  together  about  all  these  matters. 
I  do  not  wish  you  to  feel  stinted,  but  at  the 
same  time  would  have  you  avoid  waste  and  ex- 
travagance, remembering  that  they  are  incon- 
sistent with  our  Saviour's  teachings,  and  that 
money  is  one  of  the  talents  for  whose  use  or 
abuse  we  must  render  an  account  at  the  last." 


CHAPTER  VH. 

"  But  O !  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still." 

— Tennyton. 

IT  was  a  chill  November  day,  a  day  of  lower- 
ing clouds,  wind,  rain,  sleet  and  snow. 

Arthur  Conly  coming  into  the  drawing-room 
at  Ion  and  finding  its  mistress  there  alone,  re- 
marked as  he  shook  hands  with  her,  "  The 
beginning  of  winter,  Cousin  Elsie  !  It  is  setting 
in  early.  It  froze  hard  last  night,  and  the  wind 
to-day  is  cutting." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  even  papa  and  my  two  big, 
hardy  boys  found  a  short  walk  quite  sufficient 
to  satisfy  them  to-day.  But  you  poor  doctors 
can  seldom  consult  your  own  comfort  in  regard 
to  facing  wind  and  storm.  Take  this  easy  chair 
beside  the  fire." 

"  Thank  you,  no  ;  I  shall  find  it  quite  warm 
enough  on  the  sofa  beside  you.  I  am  glad  to 
have  found  you  alone,  for  I  want  to  have  a  little 
semi-confidential  chat." 

She  gave  him  an  inquiring  look. 

"  I  am  a  little  uneasy  about  grandpa,"  he  went 
on:  "he  seems  feeble  and  has  a  troublesome 
cough,  and  I  think  should  have  a  warmer  cli- 
mate through  the  coming  winter.  I  think  too, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  09 

cousin,  that  such  a  change  would  be  by  no  means 
hurtful  to  you  or  your  children,"  he  continued, 
regarding  her  with  a  grave,  professional  air  : 
"  you  are  a  trifle  thin  and  pale,  and  need  some- 
thing to  rouse  and  stimulate  you." 

"  What  is  it  you  wish,  Arthur  ?"  she  asked, 
with  a  slight  tremble  in  her  voice. 

"  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  go  to  Viamedo 
for  the  winter  and  take  our  grandfather  with 
you." 

He  paused  for  an  answer. 

Her  face  was  turned  toward  a  window  looking 
out  upon  the  grounds ;  her  eyes  rested  with 
mournful  gaze  upon  a  low  mound  of  earth  with* 
in  a  little  enclosure  not  many  rods  away. 

Arthur  read  her  thoughts,  and  laying  a  gentle 
hand  on  hers,  said  in  low  compassionate  tones: 

"  He  is  not  there,  cousin,  and  his  spirit  will 
be  as  near  you  in  your  Lily's  birthplace,  an<J 
Tour  own,  as  here.  Is  not  that  home  also  full 
of  pleasant  memories  of  him?" 

She  gave  a  silent  assent. 

"  And  you  can  take  all  your  other  dear  ones 
with  you." 

"Except  Edward." 

"  Yes,  but  in  his  case  it  will  only  involve  a 
little  delay  in  receiving  letters.  Your  father  and 
Aunt  Rose  I  am  certain  will  go  with  you.  And 
our  old  grandpa — " 

<f  Is  a  dear  old  grandpa,  and  must  not  suffer 


7Q  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

anything  I  can  save  him  from,"  she  interrupted. 
"  Yes,  Arthur,  I  will  go,  if — if  my  father  ap- 
proves and  will  accompany  us,  of  which  I  Iiave 
no  doubt." 

He  thanked  her  warmly.  '<  It  may  be  the 
saving  of  grandpa's  life,"  he  said. 

"He  is  getting  very  old,  Arthur." 

"  Yes,  past  eighty,  but  with  care  he  may  live 
to  be  a  hundred  ;  he  has  a  naturally  vigorous 
constitution.  And  how  he  mellows  with  age, 
Elsie  !  He  has  become  a  very  lovely  Christian, 
as  humble  and  simple-hearted  as  a  little  child." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  turning  toward  him  eyes  fill- 
ed with  glad  tears,  "  and  he  has  become  very 
dear  to  me.  I  think  he  loves  us  all — especially 
papa — and  that  we  shall  have  a  happy  winter 
together." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it ;  in  fact,  I  quite  envy  you 
the  prospect." 

"  Oh  could  you  not  go  with  us  to  stay  at  least 
a  few  weeks  ?  We  should  all  be  so  very  glad  to 
have  you." 

,  "  Quite  impossible,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head 
rather  ruefully.  "I'm  greatly  obliged,  and 
should  be  delighted  to  accept  your  invitation, 
but  it  isn't  often  a  busy  doctor  can  venture  to 
take  such  a  holiday." 

"  I'm  very  sorry.  But  you  think  there  is  no 
doubt  that  grandpa  will  be  willing  to  go  ?" 

"He'll  not  hesitate  a  moment  if  he  hears 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  71 

Uncle  Horace  is  to  go.  He  clings  to  him  now 
more  than  to  any  other  earthly  creature." 

"  Papa  is  in  the  library;  shall  we  join  him 
and  hear  what  he  thinks  of  your  plan  ?"  said 
Elsie,  rising. 

"  By  all  means,"  returned  Arthur,  and  they 
did  so. 

Mr.  Dinsmore  highly  approved,  as  did  Kose 
also  on  being  called  in  to  the  conference. 

''How  soon  do  you  think  of  starting  ?"  she 
asked,  looking  at  Elsie,  then  at  her  husband. 

"  Papa  should  decide  that,"  Elsie  answered, 
a  slight  tremble  in  her  voice,  thinking  of  the 
absent  one  to  whom  that  question  should  have 
been  referred  were  his  dear  presence  still  with 
them. 

She  caught  a  look  of  tenderest  love  and  sym- 
pathy from  her  father.  How  well  he  under- 
stood her  !  How  ever  thoughtful  of  her  feelings 
he  was  ! 

"  I  think  the  decision  should  rest  with  you, 
daughter,"  he  said;  "though  I  suppose  the 
sooner  the  better." 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur;  "  for  grandpa  especially." 

"I  presume  no  great  amount  of  preparation 
will  be  needful,  since  it  is  but  a  change  from  one 
home  to  another,"  suggested  Eose. 

"No,"  said  Elsie,  "and  I  think  a  week  will 
suffice  for  mine.  Papa,  can  business  matters  be 
arranged  in  that  time?" 


72  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"Oh  yes  !  so  we  will  say  this  day  week." 

The  door  had  opened  very  quietly  a  few  mo- 
ments before,  admitting  little  Rose  and  Walter, 
and  stealing  softly  to  their  mother's  side  they 
were  now  leaning  on  her  lap,  looking  from  one 
to  another  of  their  elders  and  listening  with 
some  curiosity  to  their  conversation. 

"  What  is  it,  mamma  ?"  asked  Rosie. 

"  We  are  talking  of  going  to  Viamede,  dear." 

"  Oh  that  will  be  nice  !" 

"  But  we  tan't  doe  wis-out  papa,"  prattled 
Walter  ;  "  tan  we,  mamma  ?  I  wish  my  dear 
papa  turn  back  quick." 

Rosie  saw  the  pain  in  mamma's  dear  face,  the 
tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  pressed  a  silent  kiss  on 
the  brow  of  the  innocent  questioner,  and  with 
ready,  loving  tact  she  seized  the  little  fellow's 
hand,  and,  drawing  him  away,  "  Come,  Walter," 
she  said,  "  let  us  go  and  tell  the  rest  about  it" 

They  ran  away  together,  and  Arthur  rose  to 
take  leave. " 

"  Am  I  imposing  upon  your  unselfish  kind- 
ness of  heart,  my  dear  cousin  ?"  he  asked  in  An 
undertone,  taking  Elsie's  hand  in  his  ;  "  is  it  too 
great  a  sacrifice  of  your  own  feelings  and  incli- 
nations ?" 

She  answered  with  a  text,  as  was  not  unusual 
With  her,  "  '  Even  Christ  pleased  not  himself.'  " 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dinsmore  were  conversing  apart 
at  the  moment. 


/"  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  73 

"  Perhaps,"  returned  Arthur  musingly,  "we 
might  make  some  other  arrangement ;  grandpa 
might  be  willing  to  go  without — " 

"  No,  no,"  she  interrupted,  "  I  could  not 
think  of  giving  him  the  pain  of  separation  from 
papa,  nor  could  I  bear  that  myself.  But  do  not 
trouble  about  me;  there  will  be  much  pleasure 
mingled  with  the  pain — pleasure  in  ministering 
to  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  the  dear  old 
grandpa,  and  in  seeing  Viamede  and  the  old 
servants.  I  have  always  loved  both  the  place 
and  them." 

Her  father  had  caught  a  part  of  her  words. 

"  Separation  from  me?"  he  said,  turning  to- 
ward her,  "who  talks  of  that?  It  shall  not  be 
with  my  consent." 

"  No,  papa,  nor  with  mine,  for  either  grand- 
pa or  myself,"  she  said  with  a  look  of  affection 
and  a  slight  smile.  "  Arthur,  will  you  carry  a 
message  from  me  to  Isa?" 

"With  pleasure." 

"  Then  tell  her  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have 
her  spend  the  winter  at  Viamede  with  us,  if  she 
feels  that  she  would  enjoy  the  trip  and  the  quiet 
life  we  shall  lead  there.  There  will,  of  course, 
be  no  gayeties  to  tempt  a  young  girl." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  his  eyes  shining;  "I 
have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  she  will  be  de- 
lighted to  accept  the  invitation.  And,  now  I 
think  of  it,  Aunt  Enna  and  Molly  will  of  course 


••4  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

find  a  home  with  us  at  Roselands  while  you  are 
away." 

"No,  no,  they  will  go  with  us,"  returned 
Elsie  quickly,  "unless  indeed  they  prefer  to  be 
left  behind." 

Arthur  suggested  that  they  would  be  a  great 
charge,  especially  upon  the  journey,  but  the  ob- 
jection was  promptly  overruled  by  Mr.  Dins- 
more,  Eose  and  Elsie. 

Molly  must  go,  they  all  said;  she  would  be 
sure  to  enjoy  the  change  greatly:  and  the  poor 
child  had  so  few  pleasures;  and  the  same  was 
true  of  Enna  also:  she  had  never  seen  Viamede, 
and  could  not  fail  to  be  delighted  with  its  love- 
liness; nor  would  it  do  to  part  her  from  Molly, 
who  was  now  her  chief  happiness. 

"I  trust  they  will  appreciate  your  kindness; 
Molly  will,  I  am  sure,"  Arthur  said  as  he  went 
away. 

As  the  door  closed  on  him,  Elsie  glided  to  the 
window  and  stood  in  a  pensive  attitude  gazing 
out  upon  that  lowly  mound,  only  faintly  dis- 
cernible now  in  the  gathering  darkness,  for 
night  was  closing  in  early  by  reason  of  the 
heavy  clouds  that  obscured  the  sky. 

A  yearning  importunate  cry  was  going  up 
from  her  almost  breaking  heart.  "My  hus- 
band, oh  my  husband,  how  can  I  live  without 
you!  Oh  to  hear  once  more  the  sound  of  your 
voice,  to  feel  once  again  the  clasp  of  your  arm, 
the  touch  of  your  hand!" 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  75 

A  sense  of  utter  loneliness  was  upon  her. 

But  in  another  moment  she  felt  herself  en- 
folded in  a  strong  yet  tender  embrace,  a  gentle 
caressing  hand  smoothing  her  hair. 

"  My  darling,  my  precious  one,  my  own  be- 
loved child!"  murmured  her  father's  voice  in 
its  most  endearing  accents,  as  he  drew  her  head 
to  a  resting  place  on  his  breast. 

She  let  it  lie  there,  her  tears  falling  fast. 

"I  fear  this  going  away  is  to  be  too  great  a 
trial  to  you,"  he  said. 

"No,  papa,  but  I  am  very  weak.  Forgive 
my  selfish  indulgence  of  my  sorrow." 

"  My  darling,  I  can  sympathize  in  it,  at  least 
to  some  extent.  I  remember  even  yet  the  an- 
guish of  the  first  months  of  my  mourning  for 
your  mother." 

"Papa,  I  feel  that  my  wound  can  never  heal; 
it  is  too  deep  ;  deep  as  the  roots  of  my  love  for 
him,  that  had  been  striking  farther  and  farther 
into  the  soil  with  every  one  of  the  many  days 
and  years  that  we  lived  and  loved  together." 

"  I  fear  it  may  be  so,"  he  answered  with  ten- 
derest  compassion;  "yet  time  will  dull  the  edge 
of  your  sorrow;  you  will  learn  to  dwell  less 
upon  the  pain  of  the  separation,  and  more  upon 
his  present  happiness  and  the  bliss  of  the  re- 
union that  will  be  drawing  nearer  and  nearer 
with  each  revolving  day.  Dear  one,  this  aching 
pain  will  not  last  forever;  as  Rutherford  says, 


70  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

'  Sorrow  and  the  saints  are  not  married  together; 
or  suppose  it  were  so,  Heaven  would  make  a  di- 
vorce.'" 

"  They  are  very  sweet  words,"  she  murmured, 
te  and  sweeter  still  is  the  assurance  given  us  in 
the  Scriptures  that '  our  light  affliction,  which  is 
but  for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more  ex- 
ceeding and  eternal  weight  of  glory.' " 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose,  coming  to  her  other  side 
and  speaking  in  low,  tender  tones,  "  dear  Elsie, 
let  those  words  comfort  you;  and  these  others 
also,  '  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth,  and 
scourgeth  every  son  whom  he  receiveth.'  But 
for  that  and  similar  texts  I  should  wonder  much 
that  trial  of  any  kind  was  ever  permitted  to 
come  nigh  one  who  has  been  a  loving  disciple  of 
Jesus  since  her  very  early  years." 

"  Was  it  that  I  loved  my  husband  too  well?" 
Elsie  queried  in  tremulous  tones.  "  I  do  not 
think  I  made  an  idol  of  him;  for  inexpressibly 
dear  as  he  was,  the  Master  was  dearer  still." 

"  If  that  be  so  you  did  not  love  him — your 
husband — too  well,"  her  father  answered. 

"  I  hear  my  children's  voices;  I  must  not  let 
them  see  their  mother  giving  way  to  grief  like 
this,"  she  said,  lifting  her  head  and  wiping  away 
her  tears. 

They  came  in — the  whole  six — preceded  by  a 
servant  bearing  lights. 

There  was  a  subdued  eagerness  about  the 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  77 

younger  ones,  as  they  hastened  to  their  mother 
asking,  "Mamma,  is  it  really  so — that  we  are 
going  to  Viamede?" 

"Yes,  dears,  I  believe  it  is   quite  settled. 
Grandpa    approves,   and  I  hope  you    are  all 


"  Oh  yes,  yes!" 

"If  you  are,  mamma,"  the  older  girls  said, 
noticing  with  affectionate  concern  the  traces  of 
tears  on  her  face;  "if  not,  we  prefer  to  stay 
here." 

"  Thank  you,  my  darlings,"  she  answered, 
smiling  affectionately  upon  them;  "for  several 
reasons  I  shall  be  glad  to  go,  the  principal  be- 
ing that  our  poor  old  grandfather  needs  the 
warm  climate  he  will  find  there;  and  of  course 
we  could  not  think  of  letting  him  go  alone." 

"  Oh  no!"  they  said;  "  he  could  not  do  with- 
out grandpa,  and  neither  could  we." 

"And  neither  could  grandpa  do  without  his 
eldest  daughter,  or  her  children,"  added  Mr. 
Dinsmore  playfully,  sitting  down  and  taking 
Walter  upon  one  knee,  Eosie  upon  the  other. 
"  So  we  will  all  go  together,  and  I  trust  will  have 
a  happy  time  in  that  lovely  land  of  fruits  and 
flowers." 

They  had  not  seen  it  for  several  years,  not 
since  Walter  was  a  babe  and  Rosie  so  young  that 
she  remembered  but  little  about  it.  Both  were 
delighted  with  the  prospect  before  them,  and 


78  ELSIE' 8  WIDOWHOOD. 

plied  their  grandpa  with  many  eager  questions, 
while  their  mother  looked  on  with  growing  cheer- 
fulness, resolutely  putting  aside  her  grief  that 
she  might  not  mar  their  pleasure. 

The  other  four  had  gathered  about  her,  Vi  on. 
a  cushion  at  her  feet,  Elsie  seated  close  on  one 
side,  Herbert  standing  on  the  other,  and  Harold 
at  the  back  of  her  chair,  leaning  fondly  over 
her,  now  touching  his  lips  to  her  cheek,  now 
softly  smoothing  her  shining  hair. 

"Dear  mamma,  how  beautiful  you  are!"  he 
•whispered. 

"  You  might  as  well  say  it  out  loud,"  remarked 
Herbert,  overhearing  the  words,  "  because  every- 
body knows  it  and  nobody  would  want  to  con- 
tradict you." 

"We  are  very  apt  to  think  these  beautiful 
whom  we  love,"  their  mother  said  with  a  pleased 
smile,  "  and  the  love  of  my  children  is  very 
sweet  to  me." 

"Yes,  mamma,  but  you  are  beautiful,"  in- 
sisted Harold;  "  it  isn't  only  my  love  that  makes 
you  look  so  to  me,  though  I  do  love  you  dearly — 
dearly." 

Mamma  knows  we  all  do,"  said  Violet;  "  we 
should  be  monsters  of  ingratitude  if  we  did  not." 

"As  I  should  be  if  I  were  not  filled  with 
thankfulness  to  God  that  he  has  blessed  me 
with  such  dutiful  and  affectionate  children," 
added  the  mother. 

"Mamma,  how  soon  will  we  go  to  Viamede?" 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  79 

asked  Violet;  and  that  question  being  answered, 
another  quickly  followed.  "  We  will  not  leave 
Molly  behind?" 

"No,  certainly  not;  nor  Aunt  Enna,  if  they 
will  kindly  consent  to  go  with  us." 

"  Consent,  mamma!  I'm  sure  they  cannot 
help  being  delighted  to  go.  May  I  run  and  tell 
them?" 

"Yes,  my  child;  I  know  you  always  enjoy 
being  the  bearer  of  pleasant  news." 

Molly  heard  it  with  great  pleasure  and  grati- 
tude to  her  cousin;  Enna  with  even  childish 
delight.  Neither  had  a  thought  of  declining. 

Isadore  Conly,  also,  was  very  much  pleased, 
and  sure  she  should  vastly  enjoy  the  winter  with 
her  relations,  spite  of  many  an  envious  prognos- 
tication to  the  contrary  on  the  part  of  her 
mother  and  Virginia.  They  would  not  go  on 
any  account,  they  averred,  and  were  glad  they 
had  been  overlooked  in  the  invitation — mean  as 
it  was  in  Elsie  not  to  include  them — for  life  at 
Viamede  could  not  fail  to  be  a  very  dull  affair 
for  that  winter  at  least. 

But  Elsie,  of  course,  heard  none  of  these  un- 
kind remarks,  and  seeing  the  happiness  she  was 
conferring  not  only  upon  more  distant  relations 
but  upon  her  children  also,  who  showed  increas- 
ing pleasure  in  the  thought  of  the  expected  visit 
to  their  lovely  southern  home  as  the  time  drew 
near,  she  felt  fully  repaid  for  the  sacrifice  of 
feeling  she  was  making. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Tis  easier  for  the  generous  to  forgive 
Than  for  offence  to  ask  it." 

— Thomson. 

THE  only  noteworthy  incident  of  the  journey 
of  our  friends  took  place  at  New  Orleans,  where 
they  halted  for  a  few  days  of  rest  to  all,  and 
sight-seeing  on  the  part  of  the  young  people. 

Mr.  Horace  Dinsmore,  who  had  some  busi- 
ness matters  to  attend  to  in  connection  with 
Elsie's  property  in  the  city,  was  hurrying  back 
to  his  hotel  one  afternoon,  when  a  beggar  ac- 
costed him,  asking  for  a  little  help,  holding  out 
a  very  forlorn  hat  to  receive  it. 

There  seemed  something  familiar  in  the  voice, 
and  Mr.  Dinsmore  stopped  and  looked  earnestly 
at  its  owner. 

A  seamed,  scarred  face,  thin,  cadaverous, 
framed  in  with  unkempt  hair  and  scraggy 
beard — an  attenuated  form  clothed  in  rags — 
these  were  what  met  his  view,  surely  for  the 
first  time,  for  there  was  nothing  familiar  about 
either. 

No,  not  for  the  first  time;  for,  with  a  start  of 
recognition  and  a  muttered  curse,  the  mendi- 
cant dropped  his  hat,  then  stooped,  hastily 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  81 

snatched  it  from  the  ground,  and  rushed  away 
down  an  alley. 

"Ah,  I  know  you  now!"  cried  Mr.  Diiismore, 
giving  instant  pursuit. 

He  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the  peculiarly 
maimed  hand  stretched  out  to  regain  the  hat. 

Its  owner  fled  as  if  for  his  life,  but,  weak 
from  disease  and  famine,  could  not  distance  his 
pursuer. 

At  last,  finding  the  latter  close  at  his  heels, 
he  stopped  and  faced  him,  leaning,  panting  and 
trembling,  against  a  wall. 

"  George  Boyd,  is  it  you?  reduced  to  such  a 
condition  as  this!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dinsmore, 
eying  him  searchingly. 

''You've  mistaken  your  man,  sir,"  panted 
the  fugitive.  "  My  name's  Brown — Sam  Brown 
at  your  service." 

"  Then  why  did  you  run  away  from  me?" 
coolly  inquired  the  gentleman.  "  No,  I  cannot 
mistake  that  hand,"  pointing  to  the  maimed 
member. 

"And  you'd  like  to  hang  me,  I  suppose,"  re- 
turned the  other  bitterly.  "  But  I  don't  believe 
you  could  do  it  here.  Beside,  what's  the  use? 
I'll  not  cumber  the  ground  much  longer,  can't 
you  see  that?  Tra villa  himself,"  he  added, 
with  a  fierce  oath,  "  can  hardly  wish  me  any- 
thing worse  than  I've  come  to.  I'm  literally 
starring — can  hardly  get  enough  food  to  keep 


g2  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

ecul    and    body    together    from    one    day    to 
another." 

"  Then  corne  with  me  and  I  will  feed  you/' 
Mr.  Dinsmore  said,  his  whole  soul  moved  with 
pity  for  the  miserable  wretch.  "  Yonder  is  a 
restaurant;  let  us  go  there,  and  I  will  pay  for 
all  you  can  eat." 

"You  don't  mean  it?"  cried  Boyd  in  incredu- 
lous surprise. 

"  I  do;  every  word  of  it.    Will  you  come?  " 

"A  strange  question  to  ask  a  starving  man. 
Of  course  I  will;  only  too  gladly." 

They  crossed  the  street,  entered  the  eating- 
house,  and  Mr.  Dinsmore  ordered  a  substantial 
meal  set  before  Boyd.  He  devoured  it  with 
wolfish  voracity,  his  entertainer  watching  him 
for  a  moment,  then  turning  away  in  pained 
disgust. 

Time  after  time  plate  and  cup  were  filled  and 
emptied,  but  at  last  he  declared  his  appetite 
fully  satisfied.  Mr.  Dinsmore  paid  the  reckon- 
ing, and  they  passed  out  into  the  street  together. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Boyd,  "I'm  a  thousand 
times  obliged.  Shall  be  more  so  if  you  will  ac- 
commodate me  with  a  small  loan — or  gift  if  you 
like,  for  I  haven't  a  cent  in  the  world." 

"  How  much  do  you  think  you  deserve  at 
my  hands?"  asked  Mr.  Dinsmore  somewhat 
severely,  for  the  request  seemed  to  him  a  bold 
one  under  the  circumstances. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  83 

"  I  leave  that  to  your  generosity,  sir,"  was 
the  cool  reply. 

"  Which  you  expect  to  be  great  enough  to  al- 
low you  to  escape  the  justice  that  should  have 
been  meted  out  to  you  years  ago?" 

"  I've  never  harmed  a  hair  of  your  head  nor 
of  any  one  belonging  to  you;  though  I  owe  a 
heavy  scare  to  both  you  and  Travilla,"  was  the 
insolent  rejoinder. 

"  No,  your  imprisonment  was  the  due  reward 
of  your  lawless  and  cruel  deeds." 

"  Whatever  I  may  have  done,"  retorted  the 
wretch  with  savage  ferocity,  "it  was  nothing 
compared  to  the  injury  inflicted  upon  me.  I 
suffered  inconceivable  torture.  Look  at  me  and 
judge  if  I  do  not  speak  the  truth;  look  at  these- 
fearful  scars,  these  almost  blinded  eyes."  He 
finished  with  a  torrent  of  oaths  and  curses  di- 
rected at  Travilla. 

"Stop!"  said  Mr.  Dinsmore  authoritatively, 
"you  are  speaking  against  the  sainted  dead, 
and  he  entirely  innocent  of  the  cause  of  your 
sufferings." 

"  Whatl  is  he  dead?  When?  where?  how  did 
he  die?" 

"At  Ion,  scarce  two  months  ago,  calmly, 
peacefully,  trusting  with  undoubting  faith  in 
the  atoning  blood  of  Christ." 

Boyd  stood  leaning  against  the  outer  wall  of 
the  restaurant;  he  was  evidently  very  weak;  he 


84  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

seemed  awe-struck,  and  did  not  speak  again  for 
a  moment;  then,  "  I  did  not  know  it,"  he  said 
in  a  subdued  tone.  "So  he's  gone!  And  his 
wife?  She  was  very  fond  of  him." 

"  She  was  indeed.  She  is  in  this  city  with 
her  family,  on  her  way  to  Viamede." 

"I'm  sorry  for  her;  never  had  any  grudge 
against  her,"  said  Boyd.  "And  my  aunt?" 

"  Is  still  living  and  in  good  health,  but  be- 
ginning to  feel  the  infirmities  of  age.  She  has 
long  mourned  for  you  as  worse  than  dead. 
You  look  ill  able  to  stand;  let  me  help  you  to 
your  home." 

"  Home?  I  have  none."  There  was  a  mix- 
ture of  scorn  and  despair  in  the  tones. 

"But  you  must  have  some  lodging  place?" 

"Yes,  sometimes  it  is  a  door-step,  some- 
times a  pile  of  rotten  straw  in  a  filthy  cellar. 
On  second  thoughts,  Dinsmore,  I  rather  wish 
you'd  have  me  arrested  and  lodged  in  jail," 
he  added  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "I'd  at  least 
have  a  bed  to  lay  my  weary  limbs  upon,  and 
something  to  eat.  And  before  the  trial  was 
over  I'd  be  beyond  the  reach  of  any  heavier 
penalty." 

"  Of  human  law,"  added  Mr.  Dinsmore  sig- 
nificantly, "but  do  not  forget  that  after  death 
comes  the  judgment.  No,  Boyd;  I  feel  no  re- 
sentment toward  you,  and  since  your  future  ca- 
reer in  this  world  is  evidently  very  short,  I  do 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  85 

not  feel  called  upon  to  deliver  you  up  to  human 
justice.  Also,  for  your  aunt's  sake  especially, 
I  am  inclined  to  give  you  some  assistance.  I 
will  therefore  give  you  the  means  to  pay  for  a 
decent  lodging  to-night,  and  to-morrow  will  see 
what  further  can  be  done,  if  you  will  let  me 
know  where  to  find  you." 

Time  and  place  were  fixed  upon,  money 
enough  to  pay  for  bed  and  breakfast  was  given 
to  Boyd,  and  they  parted  company,  Mr.  Dins- 
more  hastening  on  his  way  to  his  hotel — the 
very  best  the  city  afforded — with  a  light,  free 
step,  while  Boyd  slowly  dragged  himself  to  a 
very  humble  lodging  in  a  narrow,  dirty  street 
near  at  hand. 

Mr.  Dinsmore  found  his  whole  party  gathered 
in  their  private  parlor  and  anxiously  awaiting 
his  coming.  As  he  entered  there  was  a  general 
exclamation  of  relief  and  pleasure  on  the  part 
of  the  ladies  and  his  father,  and  a  joyous  shout 
from  Eosie  and  Walter  as  each  hastened  to 
claim  a  seat  upon  his  knee. 

"  My  dears,  grandpa  is  tired,"  said  their 
mother. 

"N~ottoo  tired  for  this,"  he  said,  caressing 
them  with  all  a  fathers  fondness. 

"Are  you  not  late,  my  dear?"  asked  his  wife; 
"we  were  beginning  to  feel  a  trifle  anxious 
about  you." 

"  Rather,  I  believe.  I  will  explain  the  cause 
at  another  time,"  he  said  pleasantly. 


86  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Tea  was  brought  in,  family  worship  followed 
the  meal,  and  shortly  after  that  Elsie  retired 
with  her  little  ones  to  see  them  to  bed;  the 
others  drew  round  the  table,  each  with  book  01 
work,  Harold  pushing  Molly's  chair  up  near  the 
light;  and  Mr.  Dinsmore,  seating  himself  beside 
his  wife,  on  a  distant  sofa,  gave  her  in  subdued 
tones  an  account  of  his  interview  with  Boyd. 

"Poor  wretch!"  she  sighed,  "what  can  we 
do  for  him?  It  is  too  dreadful  to  think  of  his 
dying  as  he  has  lived." 

"It  is,  indeed!  We  will  consult  with  Elsie 
as  to  what  can  be  done." 

"  The  very  mention  of  his  name  must  be  a 
pain  to  her;  can  she  not  be  spared  it?" 

"  I  will  consider  that  question.  You  know  I 
would  not  willingly  pain  her,"  he  said,  with  a 
tenderly  affectionate  glance  at  his  daughter  as 
she  re-entered  the  room;  then  rising  he  paced 
the  floor,  as  was  his  habit  when  engaged  in  deep 
or  perplexing  thought. 

Elsie  watched  him  a  little  anxiously,  but  with' 
out  remark  until  all  the  others  had  retired, 
leaving  her  alone  with  him  and  Rose. 

Then  going  to  him  where  he  sat,  in  a  large 
easy  chair  beside  the  table,  looking  over  the  even- 
ing paper,  "  Papa,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand 
affectionately  on  his  arm,  "  I  fear  you  are  find- 
ing my  affairs  troublesome." 

"No,  my  dear  child,  not  at  all, "he answered, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  g? 

throwing  down  the  paper  and  drawing  her  to  a 
seat  upon  his  knee. 

"It  seems  quite  like  old,  old  times,"  she  said 
with  a  smile,  gazing  lovingly  into  his  eyes,  then 
stealing  an  arm  about  his  neck  and  laying  her 
cheek  to  his. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  fondling  her;  "why  should 
I  not  have  you  here  as  I  used  to  twenty  odd 
years  ago?  You  are  no  larger  or  heavier  nor  I 
a  whit  less  strong  and  vigorous  than  we  were 
then." 

"  How  thankful  I  am  for  that  last,"  she  re- 
turned, softly  stroking  his  face,  "and  it  is  very 
pleasant  occasionally  to  imagine  myself  your  own 
little  girl  again.  But  something  is  giving  you 
anxiety,  my  dear  father.  Is  it  anything  in 
which  I  can  assist  you?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  fear  I  can  hardly  explain  without 
calling  up  painful  memories." 

He  felt  her  start  slightly,  and  a  low-breathed 
sigh  met  his  ear. 

"  Still  say  on,  dear  papa,"  she  whispered  trem- 
ulously. 

"  Can  you  bear  it  ?"  he  asked ;  " not  forme, 
but  for  another — an  enemy." 

"  Yes,  the  Lord  will  give  me  strength.  Of 
whom  do  you  speak  ?" 

"  George  Boyd." 

"  The  would-be  murderer  of  my  husband  I" 
ehe  exclaimed,  with  a  start  and  shiver,  while  the 


88  ELSIE '8  WIDOWHOOD. 

tears  coursed  freely  down  her  cheeks.  "I 
thought  him  long  since  dead." 

"]So,  I  met  him  this  evening,  but  so  worn 
and  altered  by  disease  and  famine,  so  seamed 
and  scarred  by  Aunt  Dicey's  scalding  shower, 
that  I  recognized  him  only  by  the  mutilated 
right  hand.  Elsie,  the  man  is  reduced  to  the 
lowest  depths  of  poverty  and  shame,  and  evi- 
dently very  near  his  end. " 

"  Papa,  what  would  you  have  me  do  ?"  she 
asked  in  quivering  tones. 

"  Could  you  bear  to  have  him  removed  to  Via- 
mede  ?  could  you  endure  his  presence  there  for 
the  few  weeks  he  has  yet  to  live  ?" 

She  seemed  to  have  a  short  struggle  with  her- 
self, then  the  answer  came  in  low,  agitated  tones. 

"  Yes,  if  neither  my  children  nor  I  need  look 
upon  him  or  hold  any  communication  with  him." 

"  That  would  not  be  at  all  necessary,"  her 
father  answered,  holding  her  close  to  his  heart. 
"  And  indeed  I  could  not  consent  to  it  myself. 
He  is  a  loathsome  creature  both  morally  and 
physically  ;  yet  for  his  aunt's  sake,  and  still 
aiore  for  His  sake  who  bids  us  '  Love  your  ene- 
mies, bless  them  that  curse  you,  do  good  to  them 
that  hate  you,'  I  shall  gladly  do  all  in  my  power 
for  the  wretched  prodigal.  And  who  can  tell  but 
there  may  yet  be  mercy  in  store  for  him  ?  God's 
mercy  and  power  are  infinite,  and  He  has  '  no 
pleasure  in  the  death  of  him  that  dieth/  bu± 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  89 

would  rather  that  he  turn  from  his  evil  way  and 
live." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  then  Elsie  asked  if 
her  father  had  arranged  any  plans  in  regard  to 
Boyd's  removal. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  subject  of  course  to  youi  ap- 
proval. I  have  thought  it  would  be  well  to  send 
him  on  at  once  and  let  him  be  settled  in  his 
quarters  before  the  arrival  of  our  own  party. 
You  must  decide  what  room  he  is  to  occupy." 

She  named  one  situated  in  a  wing  of  the 
mansion,  and  quite  distant  from  the  apartments 
which  would  be  used  by  the  family. 

"What  more,  papa  ?"  she  asked. 

"  He  must  have  an  attendant — a  nurse.  And 
shall  we  not  write  to  his  aunt,  inviting  her  to 
come  and  be  with  him  while  he  lives  ?  remain 
through  the  winter  with  us,  if  she  can  find  it 
convenient  and  agreeable  to  do  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  oh  yes!  poor  dear  Mrs.  Carrington  ;  it 
will  be  but  a  melancholy  pleasure  to  her.  But 
I  think  if  any  one  can  do  him  good  it  will  be 
she.  I  will  write  at  once." 

"  Not  to-night  ;  it  is  too  late  ;  you  are  look- 
ing weary,  and  I  want  you  to  go  at  once  to  bed. 
To-morrow  morning  will  be  time  enough  for  the 
letter." 

"  What,  sending  me  to  bed,  papa  !"  she  said 
with  a  slightly  amused  smile.  "  I  must  be  indeed 
your  little  girl  again.  Well,  I  will  obey  as  I 


90  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

used  to  in  the  olden  time,  for  I  still  believe  you 
know  what  is  best  for  me.  So  good-night,  my 
dear,  dear  father  1" 

"  Good-night,  my  darling,"  he  responded, 
caressing  her  with  all  the  old,  fatherly  tender- 
ness. "  May  God  bless  and  keep  you  and  your 
dear  children." 


Otf  AFTER  IX, 

*She  l?d  me  first  to  God  ; 
Her  worm,  *hC  prayers  were  my  young  spirit's  dew.*» 

— Pierpont. 

ELSIE'S  letter  to  Mrs.  Carrington  was  des- 
patched by  tlje  first  morning  mail,  and  directly 
after  breakfast  Mr.  Dinsrnore  went  in  search  of 
Boyd. 

Hardened  as  the  man  was,  he  showed  some 
sense  of  gratitude  toward  the  new-made  widow 
of  his  intended  victim,  when  informed  of  her 
kind  intentions  toward  himself  ;  some  remorse 
for  his  attempt  to  injure  him  whom  she  had  so 
dearly  loved. 

It  is  really  a  great  deal  more  than  I  had  the 
least  right  to  expect  even  for  my  aunt's  sake," 
he  said.  "  Why,  sir,  it  will  be  like  getting  out, 
of  hell  into  heaven  !" 

"  It  is  not  for  Mrs.  Carrington's  sake  alone, 
or  principally — strong  as  is  the  tie  of  friendship 
between  them,"  replied  Mr.  Dinsmore,  "  but 
rather  for  the  sake  of  the  Master  she  loves  and 
serves,  and  who  bids  His  followers  return  good 
for  evil." 

"  Cant  !"  sneered  Boyd  to  himself  :  then 
aloud,  "  Well,  sir,  I  wish  it  were  in  my  power 
to  make  some  suitable  return  to  Mrs.  Travilla ; 


92  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

but  that  can  never  be,  and  unfortunately  I  can- 
not even  undo  the  past." 

"  No  ;  and  that  is  a  thought  which  might 
well  deter  us  from  evil  deeds.  Now  the  next 
thing  is  to  provide  you  with  a  bath,  decent 
clothing,  and  suitable  attendant,  and  get  you, 
and  him  aboard  the  boat,  which  leaves  a  few 
hours  hence." 

All  this  was  done  and  Mr.  Dinsmore  returned 
to  his  daughter  with  a  satisfactory  report  to  that 
effect. 

Their  party  remained  a  few  days  longer  in  the 
Crescent  City,  then  embarked  for  Viamede, 
where  they  arrived  in  due  season,  having  met 
with  no  accident  or  detention  by  the  way. 

As  on  former  occasions,  they  were  joyfull  y 
welcomed  by  the  old  servants;  but  many  tears 
mingled  with  the  rejoicings,  for  Mr.  Tra villa 
had  been  greatly  beloved  by  all,  and  they  wept 
for  both  their  own  loss  and  that  of  their  "  dear 
bressed  Missus,"  as  they  were  wont  to  call  her 
whom  his  death  had  widowed. 

She  was  much  overcome  at  the  first,  memory 
vividly  recalling  former  arrivals  when  he — her 
dearest  earthly  friend — was  by  her  side,  giving 
her  the  support  of  his  loved  presence  and  shar- 
ing her  happiness. 

Her  thoughts  dwelt  particularly  upon  the 
glad  days  of  their  honeymoon  ;  and  she  seemed 
to  see  herself  again  a  loved,  loving,  cherished 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  93 

bride,  now  wandering  with  him  through  the 
beautiful  orange  groves  or  over  the  velvety, 
flower-bespangled  lawn,  now  seated  by  his  side 
in  the  veranda,  the  parlor,  the  library,  or  on 
jsome  rustic  seat  under  the  grand  old  trees,  his 
arm  encircling  her  waist,  his  eyes  looking  ten- 
derly into  hers  ;  or  it  might  be  gliding  over  the 
waters  of  the  lakelet  or  galloping  or  driving 
through  the  woods,  everywhere  and  always  the 
greatest  delight  of  each  the  love  and  companion- 
ship of  the  other. 

Ah,  how  often  she  now  caught  herself  listen* 
ing  for  the  sound  of  his  voice,  his  step,  waiting, 
longing  to  feel  the  touch  of  his  hand!  Could 
she  ever  cease  to  do  so? — ever  lose  that  weary 
homesickness  of  heart  that  at  times  seemed 
almost  more  than  mortal  strength  could  endure? 

But  she  had  more  than  mortal  strength  to 
sustain  her;  the  everlasting  arms  were  under- 
neath and  around  her,  the  love  that  can  never 
die,  never  change,  was  her  unfailing  support 
and  consolation. 

She  indulged  in  no  spirit  of  repining,  no 
nursing  of  her  grief,  but  gave  herself  with 
cheerful  earnestness  to  every  good  work:  the 
careful,  prayerful  instruction  and  training  of 
her  children  as  her  first  duty;  then  kindly  at- 
tentions to  her  old  grandfather,  to  parents  and 
guests;  after  that  the  care  of  house  servants, 
field  hands,  and  the  outside  poor  of  the  vicinity, 


94  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

neglecting  neither  their  bodies  nor  their  souls; 
also  helping  the  cause  of  Christ  in  both  her 
own  and  foreign  lands,  with  untiring  efforts, 
earnest,  believing  prayer,  and  liberal  gifts, 
striving  to  be  a  faithful  steward  of  the  ample 
means  God  had  committed  to  her  trust,  and  re- 
joicing in  the  ability  to  relieve  the  wants  of  His 
people,  and  to  assist  in  spreading  abroad  the 
glad  news  of  salvation  through  faith  in  Christ. 

There  was  no  gayety  at  Viamede  that  winter, 
but  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  was  eminently 
cheerful,  its  walls  often  echoing  to  the  blithe 
voices  and  merry  laughter  of  the  children; 
never  checked  or  reproved  by  mamma;  the  days 
gliding  peacefully  by,  in  a  varied  round  of  use- 
ful and  pleasant  employment  and  delightful 
recreation  that  left  no  room  for  ennui — riding, 
driving,  walking,  boating  for  all,  and  healthful 
play  for  the  children. 

Lester  r -eland  had  been  heard  from,  was  well, 
and  wrote  in  so  hopeful  a  strain  that  the  heart 
of  his  affianced  grew  light  and  joyous.  She  was 
almost  ashamed  to  find  she  could  be  so  happy 
without  the  dear  father  so  lately  removed. 

Her  mother  reassured  her  on  that  point:  it 
was  right  for  her  to  be  as  happy  as  she  could; 
it  was  what  her  papa  would  have  highly  ap- 
proved and  wished;  and  then  in  being  so  and 
allowing  it  to  be  perceived  by  those  around  her, 
she  would  add  to  their  enjoyment. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  95 

"  We  are  told  to  '  rejoice  in  the  Lord  always,' " 
concluded  the  mother,  "and  a  Christian's  heart 
should  never  be  the  abode  of  gloom  and  sadness." 

"Dear  mamma,  what  an  unfailing  comfort 
and  blessing  you  are  to  me  and  to  all  your  chil- 
dren," cried  the  young  girl.  "  Oh,  I  do  thank 
God  every  day  for  my  mother's  dear  love,  my 
mother's  wise  counsels  I" 

It  was  very  true,  and  to  mamma  each  one  of 
the  six — or  we  might  say  seven,  for  Edward  did 
the  same  by  letter — carried  every  trouble,  great 
or  small,  every  doubt,  fear,  and  perplexity. 

No  two  of  them  were  exactly  alike  in  disposi- 
tion— each  required  a  little  different  manage- 
ment from  the  others — but  attentively  studying 
each  character  and  asking  wisdom  from  above, 
the  mother  succeeded  wonderfully  well  in  guid- 
ing and  controlling  them. 

In  this  her  father  assisted  her,  and  she  was 
most  careful  and  decided  in  upholding  his  au- 
thority, never  in  any  emergency  opposing  hers 
to  it. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Harold,  coming  to  her  one 
day  in  her  dressing-room,  "  Herbie  is  in  trouble 
with  grandpa." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said  with  a  look  of 
concern,  "but  if  so  it  must  be  by  his  own  fault; 
your  grandpa's  commands  are  never  unreasona- 
ble." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,  minima,"  Harold  re- 


96  ELSIE'S,   WIDOWHOOD. 

turned  doubtfully,  "but  Herbie  is  having  a 
very  hard  time  over  his  Latin  lesson,  and  says 
he  can't  learn  it:  it  is  too  difficult.  Mamma," 
with  some  hesitation,  "if  you  would  speak  to 
grandpa  perhaps  he  would  let  him  off  this  once." 

"  Do  you  think  that  would  be  a  good  plan?" 
she  asked  with  a  slight  smile.  "Herbert's 
great  fault  is  lack  of  perseverance;  he  is  too 
easily  discouraged,  too  ready  to  give  up  and  say 
'  I  can't.'  Do  you  think  it  would  be  really  kind 
to  indulge  him  in  doing  so?" 

"  Perhaps  not,  mamma;  but  I  feel  very  sorry 
to  see  him  in  such  distress.  Grandpa  has  for- 
bidden him  to  leave  the  school-room  or  to  have 
anything  to  eat  but  bread  and  milk  till  he  can 
recite  his  lesson  quite  perfectly.  And  we  had 
planned  to  go  fishing  this  afternoon,  if  you 
should  give  permission,  mamma." 

"  My  son,"  she  said  with  an  affectionate  look 
into  the  earnest  face  of  the  pleader,  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  your  sympathy  and  love  for  your  brother, 
but  I  think  your  grandpa  loves  him  quite  as 
well  and  knows  far  better  what  is  for  his  good, 
and  I  cannot  interfere  between  them;  my  chil- 
dren must  all  be  as  obedient  and  submissive  to 
my  father  as  they  are  to  me." 

"  Yes,  mamma,  I  know,  and  indeed  we  never 
disobey  him.  How  could  we  when  papa  bade 
us  not?  and  made  him  our  guardian,  too?" 

Mrs.  Travilla  sat  thinking  for  a  moment  after 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  9? 

Harold  had  gone,  then  rose  and  went  to  the 
school-room. 

Herbert  sat  there  alone,  idly  drumming  on 
his  desk,  the  open  book  pushed  aside.  His  face 
was  flushed  and  wore  a  very  disconsolate  and 
slightly  sullen  expression. 

He  looked  up  as  his  mother  came  in,  but 
dropped  his  eyes  instantly,  blushing  and 
ashamed. 

"Mamma,"  he  stammered,  ''I — I  can't  learn 
this  lesson,  it's  so  very  hard,  and  I'm  so  tired  of 
being  cooped  up  here.  Mayn't  I  go  out  and 
have  a  good  run  before  I  try  any  more?" 

"  If  your  grandpa  gives  permission;  not  other- 
wise."' 

"  But  he  won't;  and  it's  a  hateful  old  lesson! 
and  I  can't  learn  it!"  he  cried  with  angry  im- 
patience. 

"  My  boy,  you  are  grieving  your  mother  very 
much,"  she  said,  sitting  down  beside  him  and 
laying  her  cool  hand  on  his  heated  brow. 

"  0  mamma,  I  didn't  mean  to  do  that !"  he 
cried,  throwing  his  arms  about  her  neck.  "I 
do  love  you  dearly,  dearly." 

"I  believe  it,  my  son,"  she  said,  returning  his 
caress,  "  but  I  want  you  to  prove  it  by  being 
obedient  to  your  kind  grandpa  as  well  as  to  me, 
and  by  trying  to  conquer  your  faults." 

"Mamma,  I  haven't  been  naughty — only  I 
can't  learn  such  hard  lessons  as  grandpa  gives." 


98  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  My  son,  I  know  you  do  not  mean  to  be  un- 
truthful, but  to  say  that  you  cannot  learn  your 
lesson  is  really  not  the  truth  ;  the  difficulty  is 
not  so  much  in  the  ability  as  in  the  will.  And 
are  you  not  indulging  a  naughty  temper  ?' 

"Mamma,"  he  said,  hanging  his  head,  "you 
don't  know  how  hard  Latin  is." 
;     "  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  my  son?"  she  asked 
in  surprise ;  "  you  certainly  know  that  I  haye 
studied  Latin." 

"Yes,  mamma,  but  wasn't  it  easier  for  you  to 
learn  than  it  is  for  me  ?" 

"  I  think  not,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "  though 
I  believe  I  had  more  real  love  for  study  and  was 
less  easily  conquered  by  difficulties  ;  and  yet — 
shall  I  tell  you  a  little  secret  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  ma'am,  please  do  !"  he  answered, 
turning  a  bright,  interested  face  to  hers. 

"Well,  I  disliked  Latin  at  first,  and  did  not 
•want  to  study  it.  I  should  have  coaxed  very 
hard  to  be  excused  from  doing  so,  but  that  I 
pared  not,  because  my  papa  had  strictly  forbid- 
den me  to  coax  or  tease  after  he  had  given  his 
decision  ;  and  he  had  said  Latin  was  to  be  one 
of  my  studies.  There  was  one  day,  though,  that 
I  cried  over  my  lesson  and  insisted  that  I  could 
not  learn  it." 

"  And  what  did  grandpa  do  to  you  ?"  he  asked 
with  great  interest. 

"  Treated  me  just  as  he  does  you — told  me  I 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  99 

must  learn  it,  and  that  I  could  not  dine  with 
him  and  mamma  or  leave  my  room  until  I  knew 
it.  And,  my  boy,  I  see  now  that  he  was  wise 
and  kind,  and  I  have  often  been  thankful  since 
that  he  was  so  firm  and  decided  with  me." 

"But  did  you  learn  it  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  nor  did  it  take  me  long  when  once  I 
gave  my  mind  to  it  with  determination.  That 
is  exactly  what  you  need  to  do.  The  great  fault 
of  your  disposition  is  lack  of  energy  and  per- 
severance, a  fault  grandpa  and  I  must  help  you 
to  conquer,  or  you  will  never  be  of  much  use 
in  the  world." 

"But,  mamma,  it  seems  to  me  I  shall  not  need 
to  do  much  when  I'm  a  man,"  he  remarked  a 
little  shamefacedly  ;  "  haven't  you  a  great  deal 
of  money  to  give  us  all  ?" 

"  It  may  be  all  gone  before  you  are  grown  up," 
she  said  gravely.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  lose  it  if 
its  possession  is  to  be  the  ruin  of  my  sons. 
But  I  do  not  intend  to  let  any  of  you  live  in 
idleness,  for  that  would  be  a  sin,  because  our 
talents  must  be  improved  to  the  utmost  and 
used  in  God's  service,  whether  we  have  much  or 
little  money  or  none  at  all.  Therefore  each  of 
my  boys  must  study  a  profession  or  learn  some 
handicraft  by  which  he  can  earn  his  own  living 
or  make  money  to  use  in  doing  good. 

"Now  I  am  going  to  leave  you,"  she  added, 
rising,  "and  if  you  do  not  want  to  give  me  a  sad 


100  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

heart  yon  will  set  to  work  at  that  lesson  with 
a  will,  and  soon  have  it  ready  to  recite  to  your 
grandpa." 

"Mamma,  I  will,  to  please  you,"  he  returned, 
drawing  the  book  toward  him. 

"Do  it  to  please  God,  your  kind  heavenlj 
Father,  even  more  than  to  make  me  happy, '' 
she  answered,  laying  her  hand  caressingly  on  his 
head. 

"  Mamma,  what  is  the  text  that,  says  it  will 
please  Him  ?"  he  asked,  looking  up  inquiringly, 
for  it  had  always  been  a  habit  with  her  to  en- 
force her  teachings  with  a  passage  of  Scripture. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  that  teach  it  more 
or  less  directly,"  she  said  ;  "we  are  to  be  dili- 
gent in  business,  to  improve  our  talents  and  use 
them  in  God's  service ;  children  are  to  obey 
their  parents  ;  and  both  your  grandpa  and  I  have 
directed  you  to  learn  that  lesson." 

"Mamma,  I  will  do  my  very  best,"  he  said 
cheerfully,  and  she  saw  as  she  left  the  room 
that  he  was  really  trying  to  redeem  the  promise. 

An  hour  later  he  came  to  her  with  a  very 
bright  face,  to  say  that  grandpa  had  pronounced 
his  recitation  quite  perfect  and  released  him 
from  confinement. 

Her  pleased  look,  her  smile,  her  kiss  were  a 
sweet  reward  and  a  strong  incentive  to  continu- 
ance in  well-doing. 


CHAPTER  X. 

•"To  the  law  and  to  the  testimony:  if  they  speak  not  accord* 
this  word,  it  ig  because  there  is  no  light  in  them." 

-Isaiah  8  : 20. 

SOME  years  before  this  Elsie  had  built  a  little 
church  on  the  plantation,  entirely  at  her  own  ex- 
pense, for  the  use  of  her  dependents  and  of  her 
own  family  when  sojourning  at  Viamede.  The 
membership  was  composed  principally  of  blacks. 

A  few  miles  distant  was  another  small  church 
of  the  same  denomination,  attended  by  the  better 
class  of  whites;  planters  and  their  families. 

To  these  two  congregations  conjointly  Mr. 
Mason  had  ministered  for  a  long  while,  preach- 
ing to  the  one  in  the  morning,  to  the  other  in 
the  afternoon  of  each  Sabbath. 

He  had,  however,  been  called  to  another  field 
of  labor,  a  few  weeks  previous  to  the  arrival 
of  our  friends,  leaving  the  two  congregations 
pastorless,  and  the  pretty  cottage  built  for  him 
at  Yiamede  without  a  tenant. 

Still  they  were  not  entirely  without  the  preach- 
ing of  the  word,  now  one  and  now  another  com- 
ing to  supply  the  pulpits  for  a  Sunday  or  two. 

At  present  they  were  filled  by  a  young  minister 
who  came  as  a  candidate,  and  whose  services  had 
been  engaged  for  several  weeks. 


$2  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Elsie  and  her  family  were  paying  no  visits  no* 
in  this  time  of  mourning,  but  nothing  but  sick- 
ness, or  a  very  severe  storm,  ever  kept  them 
from  church.  They  attended  both  services,  and 
in  the  evening  the  older  ones  gathered  about  the 
table  in  the  library  with  their  Bibles,  and,  witk 
Crudens'  Concordance  and  other  helps  at  hand, 
spent  an  hour  or  more  in  the  study  of  the  word. 

"  Mamma,"  said  little  Eosie,  one  Sunday  as 
they  were  walking  slowly  homeward  from  the 
nearer  church,  "  why  don't  we  have  a  minister 
that  believes  the  Bible?" 

"My  child,  don't  you  think  Mr.  Jones  be- 
lieves it?" 

"  No,  mamma,"  most  emphatically,  "  because 
he  contradicts  it;  he  said  there's  only  one  devil, 
and  my  Bible  says  Jesus  cast  out  devils — seven 
out  of  Mary  Magdalen,  and  ever  so  many  out  of 
one  man,  besides  other  ones  out  of  other  folks. '' 

"  And  last  Sunday,  when  he  was  preaching 
about  Jonah,  he  said  it  was  a  wicked  and  foolish 
practice  to  cast  lots,"  remarked  Harold,  "  while 
the  Bible  tells  us  that  the  Lord  commanded  the 
Israelites  to  divide  their  land  by  lot,  and  that 
the  apostles  cast  lots  to  choose  a  successor  to 
Judas." 

"Yes,"  said  Violet,  "and  when  Achan  had 
sinned,  didn't  they  cast  lots  to  find  out  who  it 
was  that  troubled  Israel?" 

"  And  to  choose  a  king  in  the  days  of  the 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  103 

prophet  Samuel,"  added  their  older  sister. 
"  How  strange  that  any  one  should  say  it  was  a 
foolish  and  wicked  practice!" 

"I  don't  think  his  mother  can  have  brought 
him  up  on  the  Bible  as  ours  does  us,"  remarked 
Herbert. 

"Mamma,  which  are  we  to  belieye,"  asked 
Rosie,  "the  minister  or  the  Bible?" 

"  Bring  everything  to  the  test  of  scripture," 
answered  the  mother's  gentle  voice.  "  '  To  the 
law  and  the  testimony:  if  they  speak  not  ac- 
cording to  this  word,  it  is  because  there  is  no 
light  in  them. '  I  want  you  to  have  great  respect 
for  the  ministry,  yet  never  to  receive  any  man's 
teachings  when  you  find  them  opposed  to  those 
of  God's  holy  word." 

When  the  Bibles  were  brought  out  that  even- 
ing, Isa  proposed  that  they  should  take  up  the 
question  of  the  correctness  of  that  assertion  of 
Mr.  Jones  which  had  led  Rosie  to  doubt  his  be- 
lief in  the  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures. 

"Yes,  let  us  do  so,"  said  her  unele.  "It  is 
an  interesting  subject." 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is,"  said  Molly;  "but  do 
you  consider  it  a  question  of  any  importance, 
uncle?" 

"I  do;  no  Bible  truth  can  be  unimportant. 
'  All  scripture  is  by  inspiration  of  God,  and  is 
profitable  for  doctrine,  for  reproof,  for  correc- 
tion, for  instruction  in  righteousness:  that  the 


104  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

man  of  God  may  be  perfect,  thoroughly  fur- 
nished  unto  all  good  works.'  And  if  we  have 
spiritual  foes  we  surely  need  to  know  it,  that  we 
may  be  on  our  guard  against  them." 

"And  we  have  not  been  left  without  warning 
against  them,"  observed  old  Mr.  Dinsmore. 
"'Put  on  the  whole  armor  of  God,  that  ye 
may  be  able  to  stand  against  the  wiles  of  the 
devil.  For  we  wrestle  not  against  flesh  and 
blood,  but  against  principalities,  against  powers, 
against  the  rulers  of  the  darkness  of  this  world, 
against  spiritual  wickedness  in  high  places.' 
How  absurd  the  idea  that  principalities  and 
powers  can  mean  but  one  creature!" 

"  David  prays,  '  Lead  me  in  a  plain  path  be- 
cause of  mine  enemies;  and  again,  *  Lead  me, 
0  Lord,  in  thy  righteousness  because  of  mine 
enemies,  make  thy  way  straight  before  my 
face,'"  said  Mrs.  Travilla.  "It  seems  evident 
to  me  that  it  was  spiritual  foes  he  meant;  that 
he  feared  to  be  left  a  prey  to  their  temptations, 
their  deceit,  the  snares  and  traps  they  would  set 
for  his  soul." 

"Undoubtedly,"  returned  her  father.  "On 
any  other  supposition  some  of  the  psalms  would 
seem  to  be  very  bloodthirsty  and  unchristian." 

"  I  rather  took  Mr.  Jones  to  task  about  it  aa 
we  came  out  of  church,"  said  old  Mr.  Dinsmore, 
"  and  he  maintained  that  he  was  in  the  right  on 
the  ground  that  the  name  devil  comes  from  the 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  105 

Greek  Diabolos,  which,  is  applied  only  to  the 
prince  of  the  devils.*' 

"  And  what  of  that?"  said  his  son;  "  the  He 
brew  name,  Satan,  has  the  very  same  significa- 
tion— an  adversary,  an  accuser,  calumniator  or 
slanderer — and  Christ  called  the  devils  he  had 
,just  cast  out,  Satan:  'How  can  Satan  cast  out 
Satan?  If  Satan  rise  up  against  himself,  and 
be  divided,  he  cannot  stand.'  If  they  are  so 
like  him,  so  entirely  one  with  him,  as  to  be 
called  himself — and  that  by  Him  who  has  all 
knowledge  and  who  is  the  Truth — I  cannot  see 
that  there  is  any  occasion  to  deny  them  the 
name  of  devil,  or  anything  to  be  gained  by  doing 
so;  while  on  the  other  hand  there  is  danger  of 
positive  harm,  as  it  seems  to  throw  doubt  and 
discredit  upon  our  English  translation." 

"A  very  serious  responsibility  to  assume, 
fcince  the  vast  majority  of  the  people  must  de- 
pend upon  it,"  remarked  Mrs.  Travilla.  "I 
think  any  one  who  makes  the  assertion  we  are 
discussing  should  give  a  very  full  explanation 
and  strong  warning  against  the  lesser  evil  spirits 
we  call  devils.  '  If  the  foundations  be  destroyed, 
what  can  the  righteous  do?'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  her  father,  "  and  I  have  very 
strong  faith  in  the  learning,  wisdom  and  piety 
of  the  translators." 

"Is  Satan  a  real  person?  and  were  the  devils 
whom  Christ  and  his  disciples  cast  out,  real  per- 


206  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

sons?"  asked  Isadore.  "  I  have  heard  people  talk 
of  Satan  as  if  he  were  an  imaginary  creature,  a 
myth;  and  of  the  others,  with  which  persons 
were  possessed  in  those  days,  as  probably  noth- 
ing more  than  bad  tempers." 

" '  To  the  law  and  to  the  testimony,' "  replied 
her  uncle,  opening  his  Bible.  "  We  will  con- 
sider your  questions  in  the  order  in  which  they 
•were  asked.  'Is  Satan  a  real  person?*  There 
can  be  no  difficulty  in  proving  it  to  any  one  who 
believes  the  Bible  to  be  the  inspired  word  of 
God;  the  difficulty  is  rather  in  selecting  from 
the  multitude  of  texts  that  teach  it." 

Some  time  was  now  spent  in  searching  out, 
with  the  help  of  Bible  Text  Book  and  Concord* 
ance,  a  very  long  list  of  texts  bearing  on  the 
question — giving  the  titles,  the  character  and 
the  doings  of  Satan;  showing  that  he  sinned 
against  God,  was  cast  out  of  heaven;  down  to 
hell;  that  he  was  the  author  of  the  fall;  that  he 
perverts  scripture;  opposes  God's  work;  hinders 
the  Gospel;  works  lying  wonders;  that  he 
tempted  Christ;  is  a  liar  and  the  father  of  lies; 
is  a  murderer;  yet  appears  as  an  angel  of  light. 

"Here,"  said  Mr.  Dinsmore,  "is  a  summing- 
np  of  what  he  is,  by  Cruden,  who  was  without 
question  a  thorough  Bible  scholar;  and  remem- 
ber, as  I  read  it,  that  the  description  applies  not 
to  Satan  alone,  but  also  to  those  wicked  spirits 
under  him.  'He  is  surprisingly  subtile:  hia 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  107 

strength  is  superior  to  ours,  his  malice  is  dead- 
ly; his  activity  and  diligence  are  equal  to  his 
malice;  and  he  has  a  mighty  number  of  prin- 
cipalities and  powers  under  his  command! '" 

"Yes,"  said  old  Mr.  Dinsmore,  meditatively, 
"  'the  rulers  of  the  darkness  of  this  world,'  the 
word  is  plural :  it  seems  there  must  be  several 
orders  of  them,  composing  a  mighty  host." 

"  I  find  both  my  queries  already  fully  answer- 
ed," said  Isa. 

"Nevertheless,  let  us  look  a  little  farther  into 
that  second  question,"  her  uncle  answered.  "  I 
will  give  the  references  as  before,  while  the  rest 
of  you  turn  to  and  read  them." 

When  this  had  been  done,  "  Now,"  said  he, 
"  let  us  sum  up  the  evidence  as  to  their  personal- 
ity, character,  works,  and  right  to  the  name  of 
devil." 

"As  to  the  first  they  sinned:  hell  is  prepared 
for  them:  they  believe  and  tremble:  they  spoke: 
knew  Christ  and  testified  to  his  divinity,  '  Jesus, 
thou  son  of  God.'  '  I  know  thee  who  thou  art, 
the  Holy  One  of  God.'  Wicked  tempers  could 
not  do  any  of  these  things.  As  to  the  second, 
their  character,  they  are  called  in  the  Bible  '  un- 
clean spirits,' foul  spirits;  and  since  Christ  call- 
ed them  Satan  himself,  the  description  of  his 
character,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  is  a  faith- 
ful description  of  theirs  also.  This  last  proves 
also  their  right  to  the  title  of  devil.  The  scrip- 


108  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

ture — Christ  himself — calls  them  the  devil's 
angels,  his  messengers;  for  that  is  the  meaning 
of  angel,  they  do  Satan's  behests,  go  on  his  er- 
rands and  help  him  in  the  work  of  destroying 
souls  and  tempting  and  tormenting  those  whom 
they  cannot  destroy. — Well,  Vi,  what  is  it?"; 
For  she  had  given  him  a  perplexed,  troubled 
look. 

"  There  is  just  one  difficulty  that  I  see, 
grandpa.  Here  in  Jude  we  are  told,  *  And  the 
jmgels  which  kept  not  their  first  estate,  but  left 
their  own  habitation,  he  hath  reserved  in  ever- 
lasting chains  under  darkness  unto  the  judgment 
of  the  great  day.'  The  apostle  Peter  says  the 
game  thing.  My  difficulty  is  to  reconcile  this 
statement  with  'the  other  teaching — that  they 
are  going  about  the  world  on  their  wicked,  cruel 
errands." 

"  To  the  law  and  to  the  testimony,"  repeated 
Mr.  Dinsmore.  "  Since  the  infallible  word  of 
God  makes  both  statements,  we  must  believe 
both,  whether  we  can  reconcile  them  or  not;  but 
I  doubt  not  we  shall  be  able  to  do  so  if  we  dili- 
gently search  the  word  with  prayer  for  the 
teachings  of  the  Holy  Spirit." 

He  then  offqred  a  short,  fervent  petition  to 
that  end;  after  which  they  resumed  their  inves- 
tigation. 

"  Let  us  remember,"  he  said,  "  that  the  same 
Word  often  has  many  significations,  and  that  hell 


ELSIE -8  WIDOWHOOD.  109 

may  bo  a  state  or  condition  rather  than  a  place 
• — I  mean  that  the  word  may  be  sometimes  used 
in  that  sense:  so  with  chains  and  with  darkness. 

"We  use  the  expression,  'the  chains  of  hab- 
it,'" suggested  his  daughter;  "a  spirit  could 
not  be  bound  with  a  material  chain;  but  in  Prov- 
erbs we  are  told,  '  His  own  iniquities  shall  take 
the  wicked  himself,  and  he  shall  be  holden  with 
the  cords  of  his  sins.'  Think  of  the  awful  wick- 
edness and  utter  despair  of  those  lost  spirits — 
no  space  for  repentance,  no  hope  or  possibility 
of  salvation — and  I  think  we  have  chains  on 
them  of  fearful  weight  and  strength." 

"The  cords  of  sin  are  the  consequences  of 
crimes  and  bad  habits.  Sin  never  goes  unpun- 
ished, and  the  bad  habits  contracted  are,  as  it 
were,  indissoluble  bands  from  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  get  free,"  read  Mr.  Dinsmore  from  the 
Concordancej,  adding,  "  and  to  those  lost  spirits 
it  is  utterly  impossible;  yes,  here  in  their  wicked 
tempers,  malignant  desires  and  utter  despair,  we 
have,  I  think,  the  chains  that  bind  them." 

"  But  the  darkness,  grandpa?"  queried  Harold. 

"We  are  coming  to  that.  Cruden  tells  us 
here  that  darkness  sometimes  signifies  great  dis- 
tress, perplexity  and  calamity;  as  in  Isa.  8  : 22, 
Jo8i  2  : 2.  Sometimes  sin  or  impurity,  1  John 
1 : 5.  The  devil  have  all  these;  how  great  is  their 
sin,  how  great  must  be  their  distress  and  anguish 
in  the  sure  prospect  of  eternal  destruction  from 


HO  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

the  presence  of  God,  eternal  torment!  dense  and 
tearful  must  it  be  beyond  the  power  of  words  to 
eapress!  They  are  darkness,  for  our  Saviour 
calls  the  exercise  of  Satan's  power  '  the  power  of 
darkness.'  *  This  is  your  hour  and  the  power  of 
darkness.'  By  the  gates  of  hell,  Matt.  16  : 18,  is 
meant  the  power  and  policy  of  the  devil  and  his 
instruments.  It  would  seem  that  they  carry 
their  chains,  their  darkness,  their  hell  with  them 
wherever  they  go.  And  now  for  the  application, 
the  lesson  we  should  learn  from  all  this:  what 
do  you  think  it  is,  Harold?" 

"  That  we  should  be  constantly  on  our  guard 
against  the  wiles  of  these  adversaries,  is  it  not, 
sir?" 

"  Yes,  and  ever  looking  to  the  captain  of  our 
salvation  for  strength  and  wisdom  to  do  so  effect' 
ually." 

"  Putting  on  the  whole  armor  of  God,"  added 
old  Mr.  Dinsmore;  "the  shield  of  faith,  the  hel- 
met of  salvation,  the  sword  of  the  spirit  which 
is  the  word  of  God.  What  else,  Herbert?" 

"The  breast-plate  of  righteousness,  sir;  and 
the  loins  are  to  be  girt  about  with  truth,  the  feet 
shod  with  the  preparation  of  the  gospel  of 
peace." 

"  There  is  yet  another  lesson,"  said  Mrs.  Tra- 
villa,  her  face  all  aglow  with  holy  joy  and  love, 
"how it  should  quicken  our  zeal  for  the  Master, 
our  gratitude,  our  joy  and  love,  when  we  think 


WIDOWHOOD  \\~ 


of  his  salvation  offered  to  us  as  his  free  gift, 
the  purchase  of  his  own  blood,  when  he  might 
justly  have  left  us  in  the  same  awful  state  oi 
horror  and  despair  that  is  the  portion  of  the  an^ 
gels  that  sinned.  And  how  should  we  cling  to 
him  who  alone  is  able  to  keep  us  from  falling 
into  the  traps  and  snares  they  are  constantly 
spreading  for  our  unwary  feet.  Ah,  my  dear 
children,  there  is  no  safety  but  in  keeping  close 
to  Christ!" 

"But  there  we  are  safe,"  added  her  father; 
"  (  he  is  able  also  to  save  them  to  the  uttermost. 
that  come  unto  God  by  him.'  He  says  of  his 
sheep,  '  I  give  unto  them  eternal  life;  and  they 
shall  never  perish,  neither  shall  any  man  pluck 
them  out  of  my  hand.'  He  saves  his  people 
from  sin,  from  hell  and  destruction." 

"  Can't  we  find  some  texts  about  the  good  an* 
gels?"  asked  little  Rosie,  who  had  been  permitted 
to  sit  up  beyond  her  usual  bedtime  to  share  ia 
the  Bible  lesson. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  grandpa,  "  we  may  be  thank 
ful  for  them,  because  they  are  kind  and  good 
and  loving,  taking  delight  in  our  salvation  and 
in  ministering  to  God's  people,  as  they  did  to  tha 
Master  when  on  earth.  Which  of  you  c<m  nama 
some  instances  given  in  the  Bible?" 

"  One  fed  BUjaJb  when  he  fled  from  wicked 
Jezebel,"  answered  Rosie,  promptly. 

"  They  carried  Lazarus  to  heaTGn,"  said  Her* 
bert. 


112  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  And  stopped  the  lions'  mouths  when  they 
would  have  eaten  Daniel/'  added  Harold. 

The  others  went  on,  "One  comforted  Paul 
when  he  was  in  danger  of  shipwreck." 

"  One  delivered  Peter  from  prison." 

"  Now  who  can  quote  a  promise  or  assurance 
that  we,  if  the  true  children  of  God,  shall  have 
help  or  protection  from  them?" 

" '  He  shall  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee,  to 
keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways.  They  shall  bear  thee 
up  in  their  hands,lest  thou  dash  thy  foot  against  a 
stone!'"  repeated  the  younger  Elsie,  and  her 
mother  added  in  low,  sweet  tones,  full  of  joy  and 
thankfulness,  "  *  The  angel  of  the  Lord  encamp- 
eth  round  about  them  that  fear  him,  and  deliver- 
eththem.'  Is  it  not  a  sweet  assurance?"  she  ex- 
claimed: "  he  is  not  a  transient  visitor,  but  en- 
camps as  intending  to  remain;  and  not  upon  one 
side  alone,  leaving  the  others  exposed  to  the  en- 
emy, but  round  about.  Blessed  are  they  who 
have  the  Lord  of  hosts  for  their  Keeper!" 

They  united  in  a  song  of  praise,  old  Mr.  Dins- 
more  led  in  prayer,  then  with  an  exchange  of 
affectionate  good-nights  they  separated. 

"Mamma,"  said  the  younger  Elsie,  lingering 
for  a  little  in  her  mother's  boudoir,  "  to-night's 
study  of  the  word  has  done  me  good.  I  want  to 
live  nearer  to  Jesus,  to  love  him  more,  to  serve 
him  better." 

" I  too,"  said  Violet.     "I  want  to  give  him 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD,  113 

the  service  of  my  whole  heart  and  life,  time, 
talents,  money,  everything! " 

"  It  rejoices  my  heart  to  hear  it,  my  darlings," 
the  mother  answered,  folding  them  in  her  arms, 
while  glad  tears  shone  in  her  eyes;  "it  is  what  I 
desire  above  all  things  for  you,  for  all  my  dear 
ones,  and  for  myself." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

''  Ti*  not  the  whole  of  life  to  ttvc, 
Nor  all  of  death  to  die." 

•^Montgomery. 

CARRIXGTOX  obeyed  with  all  speed  the 
call  to  come  to  the  aid  of  her  unworthy  nephew, 
and  her  arrival  was  not  delayed  many  days  after 
that  of  their  kind  entertainers. 

She  received  a  cordial  welcome;  but  since  that 
first  day  the  ladies  and  children  of  the  family 
had  seen  very  little  of  her,  for  Boyd  had  taken 
to  his  bed,  and  she  devoted  herself  to  him. 

The  gentlemen  frequently  spent  a  little  time 
in  his  room,  induced  thereto  by  motives  of  kind- 
ness, but  the  others  never  approached  it. 

Elsie  looked  upon  him  as  the  would-be  mur- 
derer of  her  husband,  and  could  scarcely  think 
of  him  without  a  shudder. 

She  was  willing,  even  anxious  to  give  him 
every  comfort  that  money  could  buy,  and  that 
every  effort  should  be  made  by  her  father  and 
others  to  lead  him  to  repentance  and  faith  in 
Christ  to  the  saving  of  his  soul ;  but  she  shrank 
from  seeing  him,  though  she  made  kind  in- 
quiries, sent  messages,  and  offered  many  sincere 
and  fervent  prayers  on  his  behalf. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  115 

Strolling  about  the  grounds  one  afternoon 
with  her  little  ones,  she  saw  her  father  coming 
towards  her. 

Something  in  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance as  he  drew  rapidly  nearer  startled  her 
with  a  vague  fear. 

"What  is  it,  papa  ?"  she  asked  tremulously. 

"Take  my  arm,"  he  said,  offering  it.  "I 
have  something  to  say  to  you.  Rosie,  do  you 
and  Walter  go  to  your  mammy." 

The  children  obeyed,  while  he  and  their 
mother  turned  into  another  path. 

Elsie's  heart  was  beating  very  fast.  "  Papa, 
is — is  anything  wrong  with — " 

"  With  any  of  your  loved  ones  ?  No,  daugh- 
ter :  they  are  all  safe  and  well  so  far  as  I  know. 
But  I  have  a  message  for  you — a  request  which 
it  will  not  be  easy  or  pleasant  for  you  to  grant, 
or  to  refuse.  Boyd  is  drawing  very  near  his 
end,  and  with  a  mind  full  of  horror  and  despair. 
He  bays  there  is  no  hope,  no  mercy  for  him — 
nothing  but  the  blackness  of  darkness  forever." 

Elsie's  eyes  overflowed.  "  Poor,  poor  fellow  I 
Papa,  can  nothing  be  done  for  him  ?" 

"  Could  you  bear  to  go  to  him  ?"  he  asked 
tenderly.  "  Forgive  me,  dear  child,  for  paining 
you  with  such  a  suggestion  ;  but  the  poor  wretch 
thinks  he  could  die  easier  if  he  heard  you  say 
that  you  forgive  him." 

There  was  a  shudder,  a  moment's  struggle 


116  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

with  herself  ;  then  she  said,  very  low  and  sadly, 
"  Yes,  papa,  I  will  go  at  once.  How  selfish  I 
have  been  in  staying  away  so  long.  But — 0 
Edward  !  my  husband,  my  husband  !" 

He  soothed  her  very  tenderly  for  a  moment, 
then  asked  gently,  "Would  he  not  have  bidden 
you  go  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  :  he  would  have  forgiven,  he 
did  forgive  him  with  all  his  great,  generous 
heart.  And,  God  helping  me,  so  will  I.  I  am 
ready  to  go." 

"  Lost,  lost,  lost!  no  hope,  no  help,  the  black- 
ness of  darkness  forever  !"  were  the  words,  ut- 
tered in  piercing  tones,  full  of  anguish  and 
despair,  that  greeted  Elsie's  ears  as  her  father 
softly  opened  the  door  of  Boyd's  room  and  led 
her  in. 

At  those  sounds,  at  the  sight  that  met  her 
view — the  wretched  man  with  the  seal  of  death 
on  his  haggard,  emaciated  face,  seamed  and 
scarred  beyond  all  recognition,  tossing  restlessly 
from  side  to  side,  while  he  rent  the  air  with  his 
cries — she  turned  so  sick  and  faint  that  she 
staggered,  and  but  for  the  support  of  her  father's 
arm  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor. 

"Call  up  all  your  courage,  my  dear  child," 
he  whispered,  leaning  over  her,  "  look  to  the 
Lord  for  strength,  and  who  shall  say  you  may 
not  he  able  to  do  the  poor  dying  wretch  some 
good?" 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  117 

She  struggled  determinately  with  her  faint- 
ness,  and  they  drew  near  the  bed. 

Boyd  started  up  at  sight  of  her,  thrusting  the 
maimed  hand  under  the  bedclothes,  and  holding 
out  the  other  with  a  ghastly  smile. 

"  You're  an  angel,  Mrs.  Tra villa!"  he  gasped, 
"  an  angel  of  mercy  to  a  miserable  wretch  whom 
you've  a  good  right  to  hate." 

"No,"  she  said,  taking  the  hand  in  a  kindly 
grasp,  "  I  have  no  right  to  hate  you,  or  anj* 
one — I  whose  sins  against  my  Lord  are  far,  far 
greater  than  yours  against  me  or  mine.  I  for- 
give you,  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven.  May  God 
forgive  you  also." 

"No,  no,  it  is  too  late,  too  late  for  that!"  he 
groaned.  "I  have  sinned  against  light  and 
knowledge.  He  has  called  and  I  refused  many, 
many  times  ;  and  now  the  door  is  shut." 

"It  is  your  adversary  the  devil  who  tells  you 
that,"  she  said,  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes  ; 
"he  would  destroy  your  soul :  but  the  words  of 
Jesus  are,  '  Him  that  cometh  to  me  I  will  in  no 
wise  cast  out  ?'  '  Whosoever  will,  let  him  take 
the  water  of  life  freely.' " 

"  Ah,  but  he  also  says,  '  Because  I  have  called 
and  ye  refused  ;  I  have  stretched  out  my  hand, 
and  no  man  regarded  ;  but  ye  have  set  at  naught 
all  my  counsel,  and  would  none  of  my  reproof  ;  I 
also  will  laugh  at  your  calamity ;  I  will  mock 
when  your  fear  cometh  ;  when  your  fear  oometb 


118  ELSIE'S  WIDOWROOD. 

as  desolation,  and  your  destruction  cometh  as  a 
whirlwind ;  when  distress  and  anguish  cometh 
npon  you.  Then  shall  they  call  upon  me,  but 
I  will  not  answer.'  Oh  it's  all  true,  every  word 
of  it !"  he  cried,  with  a  look  of  horror  and  de- 
spair that  none  who  saw  it  could  ever  forget,  "  I 
feel  it  in  my  inmost  soul.  There  was  a  time 
when  mercy's  door  was  open  to  me,  but  it's  shut 
now,  shut  forever." 

"0  George,  George  !"  sobbed  his  aunt,  "the 
invitation  is  without  limit — '  whosoever  will ;' 
if  you  have  a  will  to  come,  it  cannot  be  that  it 
is  even  now  too  late." 

"But  those  words — those  dreadful  words,* 
he  said,  turning  eagerly  toward  her,  '  Then  shall 
they  call  upon  me,  but  I  will  not  answer.' " 

"  Are  addressed  to  those  who  desire  deliver* 
ance,  not  from  sin  itself,  but  only  from  its 
punishment,"  said  Mr.  Dinsmore.  "If  you 
have  any  desire  to  be  saved  from  your  sins,  to  be 
cleansed  from  their  pollution,  to  be  made  holy, 
it  is  not  too  late — the  '  whosoever  will '  is  for 
you." 

He  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  I  don't  know,  I 
don't  know,  a  death-bed  is  a  poor  place  to  ana- 
lyze one's  feelings.  Oh!  warn  men  everywhere 
not  to  put  it  off,  not  to  put  it  off !  Tell  them 
it  is  running  a  fearful  risk." 

"We  will,  we  will,"  said  his  aunt;  "but,  O 
George,  think  of  yourself  :  '  cry  to  Jesus,  he  is 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  H9 

able  to  save  to  the  uttermost,'  and  he  has  no 
pleasure  in  the  death  of  any  soul ;  he  Would  have 
you  turn  now  and  live  :  oh  cry  to  him  for 
mercy!" 

"  Too  late,  too  late  !"  he  muttered  faintly, 
"the  door  is  shut" 

They  knelt  about  his  bed  and  poured  out  fer- 
vent prayers  for  him ;  they  repeated  promise 
after  promise,  invitations  and  assurances  from 
the  word,  of  God's  willingness  to  save. 

At  last,  "  I'm  going,  going !"  he  gasped. 
"Oh  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"  And 
with  the  last  word  the  spirit  took  its  flight. 

Mrs.  Carrington  sank,  half  fainting,  into 
Elsie's  arms,  and  Mr.  Dinsmore  and  the  doc- 
tor bore  her  from  the  room. 

It  was  Elsie's  sad  task  to  try  to  comfort  and 
console  where  there  was  little  to  build  hope 
upon :  she  could  but  dwell  upon  God's  great 
mercy,  his  willingness  to  save,  and  the  possi- 
bility that  that  last  dying  cry  came  from  a  truly 
penitent  heart. 

"  I  must  try  to  believe  it,  else  my  heart  would 
break !"  cried  the  old  lady.  "  0  Elaie,  my 
heart  has  bled  for  you,  but  your  sorrow  is  not 
like  unto  my  sorrow  !  You  can  rest  in  the  sure 
and  certain  hope  of  a  blissful  reunion,  you  know 
that  your  beloved  is  rejoicing  before  the  throne ; 
while  I — alas,  alas  !  I  know  not  where  my  poor 
boy  is.  And  I  am  tortured  with  the  fear  thafc 


120  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

some  of  his  blood  may  be  found  in  my  skirts— 
that  I  did  not  guide  and  instruct,  warn  and  en- 
treat him  as  I  might ;  that  my  prayers  were  not 
frequent  and  fervent  enough,  my  example  all 
that  it  should  have  been." 

"  My  dear  friend,  '  who  is  sufficient  for  these 
things  ?'"  Elsie  answered,  weeping  ;  "who  has 
not  reason  for  such  self  reproach  ?  I  think  not 
you  more  than  the  rest  of  us." 

"  Ah  !"  sighed  the  old  lady,  "  I  wish  that  were 
so  :  had  I  but  been  to  him,  and  to  my  own 
children,  the  mother  you  are  to  yours,  my  con- 
science would  not  now  trouble  me  as  it  does." 

Mrs.  Tra villa  had  caused  a  room  to  be  fitted 
up  as  a  studio  for  her  older  daughters,  and 
here  they  were  spending  their  afternoon — Vi 
painting,  Elsie  modelling  and  thinking,  the 
while,  of  her  absent  lover,  perchance  busy  in 
his  studio  with  hammer  and  chisel. 

"The  sun  is  setting,"  exclaimed  Violet  at 
length,  throwing  down  her  brush.  "  What  can 
have  become  of  mamma  that  she  has  not  been 
in  to  watch  our  progress  ?" 

"  I  hope  she  has  been  taking  a  drive,"  Elsie 
answered,  ceasing  work  also.  "  Come,  let  us 
go  and  dress  for  tea,  Vi  ;  it  is  high  time." 

They  hastened  to  do  so,  and  had  scarcely 
completed  their  toilet  when  Harold  rapped  and 
asked  if  mamma  were  there. 

"  No  ?    Where  can  she  have  gone  ?"  he  said. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  121 

"Herbie  and  I  came  in  from  fishing  a  little 
while  ago,  and  we  have  hunted  for  her  almost 
every  where." 

"Except  in  the  nursery,"  suggested  Herbert. 
"Let's  go  and  see  if  she's  there." 

"  The  carriage  is  driving  up,"  said  Vi,  glanc- 
ing through  the  window  ;  "  probably  mamma 
is  in  it,"  and  all  four  hurried  down  to  the 
front  veranda  eager  to  meet  and  welcome  her. 

Their  old  grandfather  alighted,  handed  out 
Grandma  Eose,  Aunt  Enna,  Isa,  and  then,  with 
the  help  of  one  of  the  servant  men,  Molly. 

The  carriage  door  closed.  Mamma  was  not 
there.  Indeed  their  grandma  and  Isa  were  ask- 
ing for  her  as  they  came  up  the  steps. 

And  childish  voices  were  now  heard  in  their 
rear  making  the  same  inquiry — Rosie  and  Wal- 
ter coming  from  the  nursery  in  search  of  the 
mother  they  never  willingly  lost  sight  of  for  an 
hour. 

"  Why,  what  can  have  become  of  mamma  ? 
Rosie,  when  did  you  see  her  last  ?"  asked 
Harold. 

"Out  on  the  lawn.  She  was  walking  with 
us,  and  grandpa  came  and  took  her  away." 

"  Where  to  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  child,  burst- 
ing into  tears. 

"  There,  there,  don't  cry  ;  dear  mamma's  sure 
to  be  safe  along  with  grandpa,"  Harold  said, 


222  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 


putting  his  arms  around  his  little  sister. 
here  he  comes  to  tell  us  about  her,"  he  added 
joyously,  as  Mr.  Dinsmore  was  seen  coming 
down  the  hall. 

They  crowded  about  him,  the  same  question 
on  every  tongue. 

"She  is  with  Mrs.  Carrington,"  he  said,  pat- 
ting the  heads  of  the  weeping  Rosie  and  Walter. 
"  Don't  cry,  my  children.  She  may  not  be  able 
to  join  us  at  tea,  but  you  shall  see  her  before 
you  go  to  your  beds." 

Then  to  the  older  ones,  speaking  in  a  sub- 
dued tone,  "  Boyd  is  gone,  and  his  aunt  is  much 
overcome." 

"  Gone,  Horace  !"  exclaimed  his  wife,  looking 
shocked  and  awe-struck:  "  how  did  he  die  ?  was 
there  any  ground  for  hope  ?" 

"  Very  little,"  he  sighed,  "that  is  the  saddest 
part  of  it.  The  body  will  be  sent  away  to- 
night," he  added,  in  answer  to  a  question  from 
hia  father  ;  he  is  to  be  buried  with  the  rest  of 
big  family.  Mra.  Carrington  will  not  go  with 
it,  will  probably  remain  here  through  tht 
winter," 

All  felt  it  a  relief  that  the  burial  was  not  to 
be  near  at  hand,  or  the  corpse  to  remain  many 
hours  in  the  house—"  a  wicked  man's  corpse," 
as  Harold  said  with  a  shudder,  but  all  were 
wddened  and  horror-struck  at  the  thought  that 
he  had  gone  leaying  so  little  reason  for  hope  of 
his  salvation, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  133 

They  gathered  at  the  supper-table  a  yery 
quiet,  solemn  company ;  few  words  were  spoken  ; 
the  little  ones  missed  their  mother  and  were  glad 
to  get  away  to  the  nursery,  where  she  presently 
came  to  them,  looking  sad  and  with  traces  of 
recent  tears  about  her  eyes. 

But  she  smiled  very  sweetly  upon  them,  kissed 
them  tenderly,  and  sitting  down,  took  Walter 
on  her  lap  and  put  an  arm  round  Rosie  as  she 
stood  by  her  side. 

They  were  curious  to  know  about  Mr.  Boyd, 
asking  if  he  had  gone  to  heaven  where  dear  papa 
and  Lily  were. 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  darlings,"  she  answered, 
the  tears  coming  into  her  eyes  again;  "he  is 
there  if  he  repented  of  his  sins  against  God,  and 
trusted  in  Jesus." 

Then  she  talked  to  them,  as  often  before,  of 
the  dear  Saviour — the  great  love  wherewith  he 
loves  his  people,  and  the  many  mansions  he  is 
preparing  for  them. 

She  spoke  to  them,  too,  of  God's  hatred  of 
ein,  and  the  need  of  watchfulness  and  prayer. 

"The  devil  hates  us,  my  darlings,"  she  said; 
"  he  goes  about  like  a  roaring  lion,  seeking  to  kill 
our  souls  ;  but  Jesus  loves  us,  he  is  stronger  than 
Satan,  and  if  we  keep  close  to  him  we  are  safe. " 

Having  seen  them  safe  in  bed,  she  went  to 
her  dressing-room,  to  find  the  other  four  there 
waiting  for  her. 


124  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

They  gathered  about  her  with  glad,  loving 
looks  and  words,  each  eager  to  anticipate  her 
wishes  and  to  be  the  first  to  wait  upon  her. 

"  My  dear  children,"  she  said,  smiling  through 
glistening  tears,  "your  love  is  very  sweet  to 
me  !" 

"  And  what  do  you  think  yours  is  to  us,  mam- 
ma ?"  exclaimed  Violet,  kneeling  at  her  mother's 
feet  and  clasping  her  arms  about  her  waist, 
while  she  lifted  to  hers  a  face  glowing  with  ar- 
dent affection  and  admiration. 

"Just  the  same,  I  hope  and  believe;"  and 
•with  the  words  the  mother's  hand  passed  caress- 
ingly over  the  golden  curls. 

"Mamma,  you  have  been  crying  very  much," 
remarked  Harold  sorrowfully.  "  I  wish — " 

"  Well,  my  son  ?"  as  he  paused,  leaving  his 
sentence  unfinished." 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  you  so  happy  that  you 
would  never  want  to  shed  a  tear." 

"  When  I  get  to  heaven,  my  dear  boy,  it  will 
be  so  with  me.  '  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears 
from  their  eyes;  and  there  shall  be  no  more 
death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither  shall 
there  be  any  more  pain.'  And  that  is  where 
your  dear  papa  is  now.  Oh  how  glad  we  ought 
to  be  for  him  !"  she  said  with  mingled  smiles 
and  tears.  '  Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  iu 
the  Lord:'  but  oh,  it  is  not  so,  my  children,  with 
those  who  have  not  chosen  him  for  their  por. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  125 

tion  !  '  for  to  them  is  reserved  the  blackness  of 
darkness  for  ever.' " 

There  was  a  slight  solemn  pause,  all  think- 
ing of  the  wretched  man  who  had  passed  away 
from  earth  that  afternoon. 

"  Mamma,"  asked  Harold  at  last,  speaking  in 
a  subdued  tone,  '•  do  you  think  it  is  so  with  Mr. 
Boyd  ?" 

"My  son,"  she  said  gently,  "that  is  a  ques- 
tion we  are  not  called  upon  to  decide  ;  we  can 
only  leave  him  in  the  hands  of  God,  in  full  con- 
fidence that  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  will  do 
right." 

"  Mamma,  would  you  like  to  tell  us  about  it  ?" 
asked  Herbert. 

"It  is  a  painful  subject,"  she  sighed,  "but — 
yes,  I  will  tell  you,  that  it  may  be  a  warning  to 
you  all  your  lives." 

They  listened  with  awe-struck  faces,  and  with 
tears  of  pity,  as  she  went  on  to  give  a  graphic 
picture  of  that  death  scene  so  different  from  the 
one  they  had  witnessed  a  few  short  months 
ago. 

"Oh  my  children,"  she  said,  "live  not  for 
time,  but  for  eternity !  remembering  that  this 
life  is  but  a  preparation  for  another  and  endless 
existence.  '  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God,  and 
his  righteousness.'  *  Count  all  things  but  loss  for 
the  excellency  of  the  knowledge  of  Christ  Jesus 
our  Lord.'  Choose  his  service  now  while  youth 


13$  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

and  health  are  yours,  and  when  death  comes  you 
will  have  nothing  to  fear.  <  The  wicked  is 
driven  away  in  his  wickedness  :  but  the  right- 
eous hath  hope  in  his  death.'  'Be  not  de- 
ceived ;  God  is  not  mocked  :  for  whatsoever  a 
man  soweth,  that  sliall  he  also  reap.  For  he 
that  soweth  to  his  flesh,  shall  of  the  flesh  reap 
corruption:  hut  he  that  soweth  to  the  Spirit, 
shall  of  the  Spirit  reap  life  everlasting. '" 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  Elsie  said  in  a  half -whisper,. 
the  tears  stealing  down  her  cheeks,  "  surely  we 
have  seen  it  fulfilled  in  these  last  few  months. 
Our  heloved  father  sowed  to  the  Spirit,  and 
what  a  joyous  reaping  is  his  !  How  calmly  and 
sweetly  he  fell  asleep  in  Jesus." 

"  Yes.''  the  mother  said,  mingling  her  tears 
with  theirs— for  all  were  weeping  now — yet  with 
a  light  shining  in  her  eyes,  "I  am  full  of  joy 
and  thankfulness  to-night  in  the  midst  of  my 
grief.  Oh  how  should  we  love  and  rejoice  in 
this  dear  Saviour,  who  through  his  own  death- 
has  given  eternal  life  to  him  and  to  us  ;  and  to 
as  many  as  God  has  given  him — to  all  that  will 
come  to  him  for  it." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  If  any  man  speak,  let  him  speak  as  the  oracles  of  God." 

—1  Peter,  4  •  1L 

"  MAMMA,  can  we — Elsie  and  I — have  a  lit- 
tle private  talk  with  you?"  asked  Violet  as  they 
left  the  dinner-table  the  next  Sunday. 

"  Certainly,  daughter,  if  it  be  suited  to  the 
sacredness  of  the  day." 

"Quite  so,  mamma,"  answered  Elsie :  "it  is, 
at  least  in  part,  a  question  of  conscience." 

"  Then  we  shall  want  our  Bibles  to  help  us  de- 
cide it.  Let  us  take  them  and  go  out  upon  the 
lawn,  to  the  inviting  shade  of  yonder  group  of 
magnolias." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  be  so  selfish  as  to  monopo- 
lize your  mother's  society  ?"  asked  her  father 
playfully. 

"Just  for  a  little  while,  grandpa,"  Vi  answer- 
ed with  coaxing  look  and  tone.  "  Please,  all  of 
you,  let  us  two  have  mamma  quite  to  ourselves 
for  a  few  minutes." 

"Well,  daughters,  what  is  it?"  Mrs.  Travilla 
asked,  as  she  seated  herself  under  the  trees  with 
one  on  each  side. 

"Mamma,"  Elsie  began,  "you  saw  a  young 
lady  talking  with  us  after  church  ?  She  is  Miss 


128  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Miriam  Pettit.  She  says  she  and  several  other 
young  girls  belonging  to  the  church  used  to 
hold  a  weekly  prayer-meeting  in  Mrs.  Mason's 
parlor.  It  is  the  most  central  place  they  can 
find,  and  she  will  be  very  glad,  very  much 
obliged,  if  you  will  let  them  use  it  still.  She  has 
understood  that  nearly  all  the  furniture  of  the 
cottage  belongs  to  you  and  is  still  there." 

"Yes,  that  is  so  ;  and  they  are  very  welcome 
to  the  use  of  any  of  the  rooms.  But  that  is  not 
all  you  and  Vi  had  to  say  P' 

"  Oh  no,  mamma  !  she  wants  us  to  join  them 
and  take  part  in  the  meetings — I  mean  not  only 
to  sing  and  read,  but  also  to  lead  in  prayer." 

"Well,  my  dears,  I  should  be  glad  to  have 
you  do  so ;  and  you  surely  cannot  doubt  that 
it  would  be  right  ?" 

"No,  mamma,"  Violet  said  in  her  sprightly 
way,  "  but  we  should  like  to  have  you  tell  us— 
at  least  I  should — that  it  would  not  be  wrong  tc 
refuse." 

"  My  child,  do  you  not  believe  in  prayer  as 
both  a  duty  and  a  privilege?  social  and  public 
as  well  as  private  prayer?" 

"  0  mamma,  yes!  but  is  it  not  enough  for  me 
to  pray  at  home  in  my  closet,  and  to  unite  si- 
lently with  the  prayers  offered  by  ministers  and 
others  in  public?" 

"  Are  we  not  told  to  pray  without  ceasing?" 

"  Oh  yes,  mamma !  and  I  did  not  mean  to 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  129 

omit  silent,  ejaculatory  prayer;  but  is  it  my 
duty  to  lead  the  devotions  of  others?" 

"Our  Saviour  gave  a  precious  assurance  to 
those  who  unite  in  presenting  their  petitions  at 
a  throne  of  grace.  *  Where  two  or  three  are 
gathered  together  in  my  name,  there  am  I  in 
the  midst  of  them.'  Some  one  must  lead — there 
ought  always  to  be  several  to  do  so — and  why 
should  you  be  excused  more  than  another?" 

"Elsie  is  willing,  mamma,  and  Miss  Pettit 
too." 

'•'  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  the  mother  said,  with 
an  affectionate  look  at  her  eldest  daughter.  "  I 
know  it  will  be  something  of  a  trial  to  Elsie,  and 
doubtless  it  is  to  Miss  Pettit  too — it  is  to  almost 
every  one:  but  what  a  light  cross  to  bear  for 
Jesus  compared  to  that  he  bore  for  us — or  those 
borne  by  the  martyrs  of  old;  or  even  by  the  mis- 
sionaries who  leave  home  and  dear  ones  to  go 
far  away  to  teach  the  heathen  !  I  had  hoped 
my  Vi  was  ready  to  follow  her  Master  wherever 
his  providence  called  her:  that  she  would  not 
keep  back  any  part  of  the  price,  but  give  him 
all." 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  mamma  !"  she  cried,  the  tears 
starting  to  her  eyes,  "I  want  to  be  altogether 
his.  I  have  given  him  all,  and  don't  want  to 
keep  back  anything.  I  will  try  to  do  this  if  you 
think  he  calls  me  to  it;  though  it  seems  almost 
impossible." 


130  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"My  child,  he  will  help  you  if  you  ask  him; 
will  give  his  Holy  Spirit  to  teach  you  how 
to  pray  and  what  to  pray  for.  Try  to  get  your 
mind  and  heart  full  of  your  own  and  others' 
needs,  to  forget  their  presence  and  remember 
his:  then  words  will  come,  and  you  will  find 
that  in  trying  to  do  the  Master's  work  and  will, 
you  have  brought  down  a  rich  blessing  upon 
your  own  soul.  And  why  should  we  feel  it  a 
trial  to  speak  aloud  to  our  Father  in  the  pres- 
ence of  others  of  his  children,  or  of  those  who 
are  not?" 

"I  don't  know,  mamma;  it  does  seem  very 
strange  that  we  should." 

"  I  should  like  to  attend  your  meetings,  but 
hardly  suppose  I  should  be  welcome, "Mrs.  Tra- 
villa  said  with  a  smile. 

"To  us,  mamma,"  both  answered,  "but  per- 
haps not  to  the  others.  Miss  Pettit  said  there 
were  to  be  none  but  young  girls." 

"Isa  is  invited,  I  presume?" 

"Yes,  mamma,  and  says  she  will  attend;  but 
can't  promise  anything  more.  I  think  she  will, 
though,  if  you  will  talk  to  her  as  you  have  to 
us,"  Violet  added,  as  they  rose  to  return  to  the 
?eranda,  where  the  rest  of  the  family  still  lin- 
gered. 

And  she  was  not  mistaken.  Isa  was  too  true 
and  earnest  a  Christian,  too  full  of  love  for  the 
Master  and  zeal  for  the  upbuilding  of  his  cause 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  131 

and  kingdom,  to  refuse  to  do  anything  that  she 
saw  would  tend  to  that,  however  much  it  might 
cost  her  to  attempt  it. 

"  Well,  cricket,"  Mr.  Dinsmore  said,  giving 
Violet  a  pet  name  he  had  bestowed  upon  her 
when  she  was  a  very  little  girl,  "  come  sit  on  my 
knee  and  tell  me  if  we  are  all  to  be  kept  in  the 
dark  in  regard  to  the  object  of  this  secret  con- 
ference with  mamma?" 

'•"  Oh,  grandpa,"  she  said,  taking  the  offered 
seat,  and  giving  him  a  hug  and  kiss,  "gentle- 
men have  no  curiosity,  you  know.  Still,  now 
it's  settled,  we  don't  care  if  you  do  hear  all  about 
it." 

Both  he  and  his  wife  highly  approved,  and 
the  latter,  seeing  an  interested  yet  regretful 
look  on  poor  Molly's  face,  asked,  "  Why  should 
we  not  have,  in  addition,  a  female  prayer-meet- 
ing of  our  own?  We  have  more  than  twice  the 
number  necessary  to  claim  the  promise." 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  favor  by  all 
the  ladies  present,  time  and  place  were  fixed 
upon,  and  then,  that  they  might  be  the  better 
prepared  to  engage  in  this  new  effort  to  serve 
the  Master,  they  agreed  to  take  the  subject  of 
prayer  for  that  evening's  Bible  study. 

But  once  entered  upon,  they  found  it  so  in- 
teresting, comprehensive  and  profitable  a  theme 
that  they  devoted  several  evenings  to  it. 

The  children  as  well  as  their  elders  were  coii« 


(32  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

tinually  finding  discrepancies  between  the  teach- 
ings of  the  Bible  and  those  of  Mr.  Jones,  and 
Elsie  was  not  a  little  relieved  to  learn  that  the 
time  for  which  his  services  had  been  engaged 
Lad  now  nearly  expired.  She  hoped  there  was 
no  danger  that  he  would  be  requested  to  remain. 

One  day  as  she  was  leaving  the  quarter,  where 
she  had  been  visiting  the  sick,  Uncle  Ben,  now 
Tery  old  and  feeble,  accosted  her  respectfully. 

"  Missus,  I'se  be  bery  thankful  to  hab  a  little 
conversation  wid  you  when  it  suits  yo'  conven- 
ience to  talk  to  dis  chile." 

"  What  is  it,  Uncle  Ben  ?"  she  asked. 

"  May  I  walk  'longside  ob  de  Missus  up  to  de 
house?"  he  returned. 

"  Certainly,  Uncle  Ben,  if  you  feel  strong 
enough  to  do  so." 

"  Tank  you,  Missus;  do  dese  ole  limbs  good 
to  stretch  'em  'bout  dat  much.  It's  ''bout  Massa 
Jones  I'se  want  to  converse  wid  you,  Missus.  I 
hear  dey's  talkin'  'bout  invitin'  him  to  stay,  and 
I  want  to  ascertain  if  you  intends  to  put  him 
ober  dis  church." 

"I,  Uncle  Ben!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  put  a 
minister  over  your  church?  I  have  no  right 
and  certainly  no  wish  to  do  any  such  thing.  It 
is  for  the  members  to  choose  whom  they  will 
have." 

"But  you  pays  de  money  and  provides  de 
house  for  him,  Missus." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  133 

"That  is  true;  but  it  does  not  give  me  the 
right  to  say  who  he  shall  be.  Only  if  you  should 
choose  one  whose  teachings  I  could  not  approve 
— one  who  was  not  careful  to  teach  according  to 
God's  word — I  should  feel  that  I  could  not  take 
the  responsibility  of  supporting  him." 

"I'se  glad  of  dat,  Missus,"  he  said  with  a 
gleam  of  satisfaction  in  his  eyea ;  "  'cause  I'se 
want  de  Bible  truff  and  nuffin  else.  And  young 
Massa  Jones,  he  preach  bery  nice  sometimes,  but 
sometimes  it  'pears  like  he  disremembers  what's 
in  de  bressed  book,  and  contradicts  it  wid  some 
of  his  own  notions." 

"  Then  you  don't  wish  him  to  stay  ?" 

( '  No,  Missus,  dat  I  don't !  hopin'  you  won't 
be  displeased  wid  me  for  sayin'  it." 

"Not  at  all,  Uncle  Ben:  I  find  the  very 
same  objection  to  him  that  you  do." 

On  reaching  the  house  she  bade  the  old  man 
a  kindly  good-bye,  and  directed  him  to  go  to 
the  kitchen  and  tell  the  cook,  from  her,  to  give 
him  a  good  dinner,  with  plenty  of  hot,  strong 
coffee. 

Bosie  and  Walter  were  on  the  back  veranda 
looking  out  for  mamma. 

"  Oh  we're  so  glad  you've  turn  home,  mam- 
ma !"  cried  "Walter,  running  to  meet  her  and 
claim  a  "kiss. 

"Yes,  mamma,  it  seemed  so  long  to  wait," 
said  Rosie,  "and  now  there  is  a  strange  gentle- 


^34  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

man  in  the  drawing-room,  waiting  to  see  you. 
He's  been  here  a  good  while,  and  both  grandpas 
are  ont." 

"Then  I  must  go  to  him  at  once.  But  I 
think  he  is  not  likely  to  detain  me  long  away 
from  you,  darlings,"  the  mother  said. 

She  found  the  gentleman — a  handsome  map 
of  middle  age — looking  not  at  all  annoyed  or  im- 
patient, but  seemingly  well  entertained  by  Isa 
and  Violet,  who  were  there,  chatting  sociably 
together  over  some  pretty  fancy  work,  when  he 
was  shown  in  by  the  servant. 

They  withdrew  after  Isa  had  introduced  Mrs. 
Travilla  and  Mr.  Embury. 

The  former  thought  it  a  little  singular  when 
she  learned  that  her  caller's  errand  was  the  same 
with  that  of  Uncle  Ben,  i.e.,  to  talk  about  Mr. 
Jones  and  the  propriety  of  asking  him  to  take 
permanent  charge  of  the  two  churches  t  yet  with 
this  difference — that  he  was  personally  not  un- 
favorable to  the  idea." 

"I  like  him  very  well,  though  he  is  not  by 
any  means  Mr.  Mason's  equal  as  a  preacher,"  he 
said,  "and  I  think  our  little  congregation  can 
be  induced  to  give  him  a  call  ;  but  we  are  too 
few  to  support  him  unless  by  continuing  the 
union  with  this  church,  so  that  the  small  salary 
we  can  give  will  still  be  supplemented  by  the 
very  generous  one  you  pay,  and  the  use  of  the 
cottage  you  built  for  Mr.  Mason.  I  am  tak- 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  135 

ing  for  granted,  my  dear  Madame,  that  you  in- 
tend to  go  on  doing  for  your  retainers  here  as  you 
have  hitherto." 

"I  do,"  she  said,  "in  case  they  choose  a 
minister  whose  teachings  accord  with  those  of 
the  inspired  word.  I  cannot  be  responsible  for 
any  other." 

"And  do  those  of  Mr.  Jones  not  come  up  to 
the  standard  ?" 

"  I  regret  to  have  to  say  that  they  do  not ;  his 
preaching  is  far  from  satisfactory  to  me  ;  he 
makes  nothing  of  the  work  of  the  Spirit,  or  the 
danger  of  grieving  Him  away  forever ;  nothing 
of  the  danger  of  self-deception  ;  instructing 
those  who  are  in  doubt  about  the  genuineness  of 
their  conversion  that  they  must  not  be  dis- 
couraged, instead  of  advising  them  to  go  to 
Christ  now  and  be  saved,  just  as  any  other  sin- 
ner must.  I  fear  his  teaching  may  lead  some  to 
be  content  with  a  false  hope.  Then  he  often 
speaks  in  a  half  hesitating  way,  which  shows 
doubt  and  uncertainty,  on  his  part,  of  truths 
which  are  taught  most  plainly  and  forcibly  in 
scripture.  In  a  word,  his  preaching  leaves  the 
impression  upon  me  that  he  has  no  very 
thorough  acquaintance  with  the  Bible,  and  no 
very  strong  confidence  in  the  infallibility  of  its 
teachings.  Indeed  so  glaring  are  his  contradic- 
tions of  scripture,  that  even  my  young  children 
have  noticed  them  more  than  once  or  twice. " 


136  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD 

"  Eeally,  Mrs.  Travilla,  you  make  out  a  strong 
case  against  him,"  remarked  her  interlocutor, 
after  a  moment's  thoughtful  silence,  "  and  upon 
reflection  I  believe  a  true  one.  I  am  surprised 
at  myself  that  I  have  listened  with  so  little  reali- 
zation of  the  important  defects  in  his  system  of 
theology.  I  was  not  ardently  in  favor  of  calling 
him  before  ;  now  I  am  decidedly  opposed  to  it." 

He  was  about  to  take  leave,  but,  the  two  Mr. 
Dinsmores  coming  in  at  that  moment,  resumed 
his  seat,  and  the  subject  was  reopened. 

They  soon  learned  that  they  were  all  of  sub- 
stantially the  same  opinion  in  regard  to  it. 

In  the  course  of  the  conversation  some  account 
was  given  Mr.  Embury  of  the  Sunday  evening 
Bible  study  at  Viamede. 

He  seemed  much  interested,  and  at  length 
asked  if  he  might  be  permitted  to  join  them  oc- 
casionally. 

"My  boys  are  away  at  school,"  he  said,  "my 
two  little  girls  go  early  to  bed,  and  my  evenings 
are  often  lonely — since  my  dear  Mary  left  me, 
now  two  years  ago,"  he  added  with  a  sigh. 
'*  May  I  come,  Mrs.  Travilla  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  reading  approval  in  the  eyes 
of  her  father  and  grandfather,  while  her  own 
tender  heart  sympathized  with  the  bereaved 
husband,  though  at  the  same  time  her  sensitive 
nature  shrank  from  the  invasion  of  their  family 
circle  by  a  stranger. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  137 

He  read  it  all  in  her  speaking  countenance,  but 
could  not  deny  himself  the  anticipated  pleasure 
of  making  the  acquaintance  of  so  lovely  a  family 
group — to  say  nothing  of  the  intellectual  or 
spiritual  profit  to  be  expected  from  sharing  in 
their  searching  of  the  scriptures. 

Mr.  Embury  was  a  man  of  liberal  education 
and  much  general  information — one  who  read 
and  thought  a  good  deal  and  talked  well. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  literature,  and 
Mr.  Dinsmore  presently  carried  him  off  to  the 
library  to  show  him  some  valuable  books  re- 
cently purchased  by  himself  and  his  daughter. 

They  were  still  there  when  the  tea-bell  rang, 
and  being  hospitably  urged  to  remain  and  par- 
take of  the  meal  with  the  family,  Mr.  Embury 
accepted  the  invitation  with  unfeigned  pleasure. 

All  were  present  even  down  to  little  Walter, 
and  not  excepting  poor  Molly. 

Her  apartments  at  Viamede  being  on  the 
same  floor  with  dining-room,  library  and  parlors, 
she  joined  the  family  gatherings  almost  as  fre- 
quently as  any  one  else — indeed  whenever  she 
preferred  the  society  of  her  relatives  to  the 
seclusion  of  her  own  room. 

Mr.  Embury  had  occasionally  seen  her  at 
church.  Her  bright,  intellectual  face  and  crip- 
pled condition  had  excited  his  interest  and 
curiosity,  and  in  one  way  and  another  he  had 
learned  her  story. 


138  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Truth  to  tell,  one  thing  that  had  brought  him 
to  Viamede  was  the  desire  to  make  her  acquaint- 
ance— though  Molly  and  the  rest  were  far  from, 
suspecting  it  at  the  time. 

He  had  no  definite  motive  for  seeking  to  know 
her,  except  that  his  large,  generous  heart  was 
drawn  out  in  pity  for  her  physical  infirmity,  and 
filled  with  admiration  of  her  cheerfulness  under 
it,  and  the  energy  and  determination  she  had 
shown  in  carving  out  a  career  for  herself,  and 
steadily  pursuing  it  spite  of  difficulties  and  dis- 
couragements that  would  have  daunted  many  a 
weaker  spirit. 

She  had  less  of  purely  physical  beauty  than 
any  other  lady  present,  her  mother  excepted,  yet 
there  was  something  in  her  face  that  would  have 
attracted  attention  anywhere  ;  and  her  conver- 
sational powers  were  enviable,  as  Mr.  Embury 
discovered  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  for  so 
delightful  did  he  find  the  society  of  these  nev 
friends,  both  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  he 
lingered  among  them  until  nearly  ten  o'clock, 
quite  oblivious  of  the  flight  of  time  until  re- 
minded of  it  by  the  striking  of  the  clock. 

"Really,  Mrs.  Travilla,"  he  said,  rising  to 
take  leave,  "  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  this 
lengthened  visit,  which  has  somehow  taken  the 
place  of  my  intended  call ;  but  I  must  beg  you 
to  lay  the  blame  where  it  should  fall,  on  the  verj 
great  attractiveness  of  your  family  circle." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  139 

"  The  apology  is  quite  out  of  proportion  to 
the  offence,  sir,"  she  returned,  with  a  kindly 
smile  ;  "  so  we  grant  you  pardon,  and  shall  not 
refuse  it  fora  repetition  of  the  misdeed." 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  glancing  round  from  one 
to  another,  "that  you  would  all  make  me  a  re- 
turn in  kind.  I  will  not  say  that  Magnolia  Hall 
is  equal  to  Viamede,  but  it  is  called  a  fine 
place,  and  1  can  assure  you  of  at  least  a  hearty 
welcome  to  its  hospitalities." 


CHAPTER 

"  1  preached  as  never  sure  to  preach  again. 
And  as  a  dying  man  to  dying  men." 

—Richard  Baxter. 

THEEE  was  a  stranger  in  the  pulpit  the  next 
Sunday  morning ;  one  whose  countenance, 
though  youthful,  by  its  intellectuality,  its  ear- 
nest thoughtfulness,  and  a  nameless  something 
that  told  of  communion  with  God  and  a  strong 
sense  of  the  solemn  responsibility  of  thus  stand- 
ing as  an  ambassador  for  Christ  to  expound  his 
word  and  will  to  sinful,  dying  men,  gave  prom- 
ise of  a  discourse  that  should  send  empty  away 
no  attentive  hearer  hungering  and  thirsting  for 
the  bread  and  the  water  of  life. 

Nor  was  the  promise  unfulfilled.  Taking  as 
his  text  the  Master's  own  words,  "  They  hated 
me  without  a  cause,"  he  dwelt  first  upon  the 
utter  helplessness,  hopelessness  and  wretched- 
ness of  that  estate  of  sin  and  misery  into  which 
all  mankind  were  plunged  by  Adam's  fall ;  then 
upon  God's  offered  mercy  through  a  Redeemer, 
even  his  only  begotten  and  well-beloved  Son  ; 
upon  the  wondrous  love  of  Christ  "  in  offering 
himself  a  sacrifice  to  satisfy  divine  justice  and 
reconcile  us  to  God,"  as  shown  first  in  what 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  !£». 

he  resigned — the  joy  and  bliss  of  heaven,  "  the 
glory  which  he  had  with  the  Father  before  the 
world  was  " — secondly  in  his  birth  and  life  on 
earth,  of  which  he  gave  a  rapid  but  vivid  sketch 
from  the  manger  to  the  cross — showing  the 
meekness,  patience,  gentleness,  benevolence, 
self-denial,  humility  and  resignation  of  Jesus — 
how  true,  guileless,  innocent,  loving  and  com- 
passionate he  was ;  describing  the  miracles  he 
wrought — every  one  an  act  of  kindness  to  some 
poor  sufferer  from  bereavement,  accident,  dis- 
ease, or  Satan's  power  ;  then  the  closing  scenes 
of  that  wondrous  life — the  agony  in  the  garden, 
the  cruel  mockery  of  a  trial,  the  scourging,  the 
crucifixion,  the  expiring  agonies  upon  the  cross. 

He  paused ;  the  audience  almost  held  their 
breath  for  the  next  words,  the  silent  tears  were 
stealing  down  many  a  cheek. 

Leaning  over  the  puipit  with  outstretched 
hand,  with  features  working  with  emotion,  "  I 
have  set  before  you,"  he  said  in  tones  thrilling 
with  pathos,  "  this  Jesus  in  his  life  and  in  his 
death.  He  lived  not  for  himself,  but  for  you ; 
he  died  not  for  his  own  sins,  but  for  yours  and 
mine  :  he  offers  you  this  salvation  as  a  free  gift 
purchased  with  his  own  blood.  Yea,  risen 
again,  and  ever  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  he 
maketh  intercession  for  you.  If  you  hate  him, 
is  it  not  without  a  cause  ?" 

The  preacher  had  wholly  forgotten  himself  in 


142  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

his  subject ;  nor  did  self  intrude  into  the  prayer 
that  followed  the  sermon.  Truly  he  seemed  to 
stand  in  the  immediate  presence  of  Him  who 
died  on  Calvary  and  rose  again,  as  he  poured 
out  his  confessions  of  sins,  his  gratitude  for  re- 
deeming love,  his  earnest  petitions  for  perishing 
souls,  blindly,  wickedly  hating  without  a  cause 
this  matchless,  this  loving,  compassionate 
Saviour.  And  for  Christ's  own  people,  that 
their  faith  might  be  strengthened,  their  love 
increased,  that  they  might  be  very  zealous  for 
the  Master,  abounding  in  gifts  and  prayers  and 
labors  for  the  upbuilding  of  his  cause  and  king- 
dom. 

"The  very  man  we  should  have  here,  if  he 
can  be  induced  to  come,"  Mr.  Dinsmore  said  in 
a  quiet  aside  to  his  daughter  as  the  congrega- 
tion began  to  disperse,  going  out  silently  or 
conversing  in  subdued  tones ;  for  the  earnest, 
solemn  discourse  had  made  a  deep  impression. 

"Yes,  papa.  Oh,  I  should  rejoice  to  hear 
such  preaching  every  Sabbath!"  was  Elsie's  an- 
swer. 

"And  I,"  Mr.  Embury  said,  overhearing  her 
remark.  "  But  Mr.  Keith  gave  us  expressly  to 
understand  that  he  did  not  come  as  a  candidate; 
he  is  here  for  his  health  or  recreation,  being 
worn  out  with  study  and  pastoral  work,  as  I  un- 
derstand." 

"Keith?"    exclaimed    Mr.    Dinsmore.       "I 


ELSIE' &   WIDOWHOOD.  143 

thought  there  was  something  familiar  in  his 
face.  Elsie,  I  think  he  must  belong  to  our 
Keiths." 

"We  must  find  out,  papa,"  she  said.  "  Oh, 
I  shall  be  glad  if  he  does  !" 

"Shall  I  bring  him  up  and  introduce  him?" 
Mr.  Embury  asked.  "Ah,  here  he  is  !';  as, 
turning  about,  he  perceived  the  young  minister 
close  at  hand. 

"  Dinsmore!  Travilla!  those  are  family  names 
with  us  !"  the  latter  said,  with  an  earnest,  in- 
terested look  from  one  to  the  other  as  the  intro- 
ductions were  made. 

"As  Keith  is  with  us,"  Mr.  Dinsmore  an- 
swered, grasping  his  hand.  "  I  opine  tnat  I  am 
speaking  to  a  grandson  of  my  cousin  Marcia 
Keith  and  her  husband,  Stuart  Keith,  of  Pleas- 
ant Plains,  Indiana?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  am  the  son  of  Cyril,  their  second 
son,  and  bear  the  same  name.  And  you,  sir,  are 
the  Cousin  Horace  of  whom  I  have  so  often 
heard  my  grandmother  and  Aunt  Mildred 
speak?" 

"The  same." 

"And  Mrs.  Travilla  is  Cousin  Elsie?"  turn- 
ing to  her  with  a  look  of  great  interest  and 
pleasure  mingled  with  admiration;  but  which 
quickly  changed  to  one  of  intense,  sorrowful 
avoip9.thy  as  he  noticed  her  widow's  weeds.  He 
Had  often  heard  of  the  strong  attachment  be« 


144  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

ween  herself  and  husband,  and  this  was  the 
first  intimation  he  had  had  of  her  bereave- 
ment. 

She  read  his  look  and  gave  him  her  hand  si- 
lently, her  heart  too  full  for  speech. 

"You  will  go  home  with  us,  of  course,"  said 
Mr.  Dinsmore,  after  introducing  his  wife  and 
the  other  ladies  of  the  family. 

"  And  stay  as  long  as  you  possibly  can,"  add 
«d  Elsie,  finding  her  voice.  "  Papa  and  I  shall 
have  a  great  many  questions  to  ask  about  our 
cousins." 

"I  shall  be  most  happj  to  accept  your  kind 
invitation,  if  Mr.  Embury  will  excuse  me  from 
a  prior  engagement  to  dine  and  lodge  with  him," 
replied  Mr.  Keith,  turning  with  a  smile  to  the 
proprietor  of  Magnolia  Hall,  who  was  still  stand- 
ing near  in  a  waiting  attitude. 

"  I  am  loath  to  do  so."  he  said,  pleasantly, "  but 
relatives  have  the  first  claim.  I  will  waive  mine 
for  the  present,  in  your  favor,  Mrs.  Travilla,  if 
you  will  indemnify  me  by  permission  to  call  fre- 
quently at  Viamede  while  Mr.  Keith  stays;  and 
afterward,  if  you  don't  find  me  a  bore.  I  might 
as  well  make  large  demands  while  I  am  about  it." 

"Being  in  a  gracious  mood,  I  grant  them, 
large  as  they  are,"  she  responded,  in  the  same 
playful  tone  that  he  had  used.  "  Come  when- 
ever it  suits  your  convenience  and  pleasure,  Mt 
February.  ** 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  U«f 

"  Viamede  !"  said  Mr.  Keitli,  meditatively,  as 
they  drove  homeward.  "I  remember  hearing 
Aunt  Mildred  talk  of  a  visit  she  paid  there  many 
years  ago,  when  she  was  quite  a  young  girl,  and 
you,  Cousin  Elsie,  were  a  mere  baby." 

"Yes,"  said  old  Mr.  Dinsmore.  "It  was  I 
who  brought  her.  Horace  was  away  in  Europe 
at  the  time,  and  the  death  of  Cameron,  Elsie's 
guardian,  made  it  necessar"  for  me  to  come  on 
and  attend  to  matters.  Mildred  was  visiting  us 
at  Eoselands  that  winter,  and  I  was  very  glad 
to  secure  her  as  travelling  companion.  Do 
you  remember  anything  about  it,  Elsie?" 

"Not  very  much,  grandpa,"  she  said:  "a 
little  of  Cousin  Mildred's  kindness  and  affection; 
something  of  the  pain  of  parting  from  my  dear 
home  and  the  old  servants.  But  I  have  a  very 
vivid  recollection  of  a  visit  paid  to  Pleasant 
Plains  with  papa,"  and  she  turned  to  him  with 
a  deeply  affectionate  look,  "  shortly  before  his 
marriage.  I  then  saw  Aunt  Marcia,  as  both  she 
and  papa  bade  me  call  her,  and  Cousin  Mildred 
and  all  the  others,  not  forgetting  Uncle  Stewart. 
We  had  a  delightful  visit,  had  we  not,  papa?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  we  enjoyed  it  greatly." 

"  I  was  just  then  very  happy  m  the  prospect 
of  a  new  mamma,"  Elsie  went  on,  with  a  smiling 
glance  at  her  loved  stepmother,  "  and  papa  was 
so  very  good  as  to  allow  me  to  tell  of  my  happi- 
ness to  the  cousins.  Your  father  was  quite  a 


146  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

tall  lad  at  that  time,  Cousin  Cyril,  and  very  kind 
to  his  little  ceusin,  who  considered  him  a  very 
fine  young  gentleman." 

"  He  is  an  elderly  man  now,"  remarked  his 
eon.  "  You  have  seen  Aunt  Mildred  and  some 
others  of  the  family  since  then?" 

"Yes,  several  times;  she  and  a  good  many 
-of  the  others  were  with  us  at  different  times 
during  the  Centennial.  But  why  did  you  not 
let  us  know  of  your  coming,  Cousin  Cyril?  why 
not  come  directly  to  us  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  sudden  move  on  my  part,"  he  said, 
"  and  indeed  I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  coming 
into  the  neighborhood  of  Viamede,  or  that  you 
were  there.  But  I  am  delighted  that  it  is  so— 
that  I  have  the  opportunity  to  become  acquaint- 
ed with  you  and  to  see  the  place,  which  Aunt 
Mildred  described  as  a  paradise  upon  earth." 

"  We  think  it  almost  that,  but  you  shall  judge 
for  yourself,"  she  said,  with  a  pleased  smile. 

"Beautiful!  enchanting!  the  half  had  not 
been  told  me!"  he  exclaimed  in  delight,  as,  a 
few  moments  later,  he  stood  upon  the  veranda 
gazing  out  over  the  emerald  velvet  of  the  lawn, 
bespangled  with  its  many  hued  and  lovely  flow- 
ers, and  dotted  here  and  there  with  giant  oaks, 
graceful  magnolias,  and  clusters  of  orange  trees 
laden  with  their  delicate,  sweet-scented  blos- 
soms and  golden  fruit,  to  the  lakelet  whose 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  14? 

waters  glittered  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  fields, 
the  groves  and  hills  beyond. 

**Ah,  if  earthly  scenes  are  so  lovely,  what 
must  heaven  be  !"  he  added,  turning  to  Elsie  a 
face  full  of  joyful  anticipation. 

"  Yes,"  she  responded  in  low,  moved  tones, 
"  how  great  is  their  blessedness  who  walk  the 
streets  of  the  Celestial  City!  How  their  eyes 
must  feast  upon  its  beauties!  And  yet — ah,  me- 
thinks  it  must  be  long  ere  they  can  see  them, 
for  gazing  upon  the  lovely  face  of  Him  whose 
blood  has  purchased  their  right  to  enter  there." 

"Even  so,"  he  said.  "Oh,  for  one  glimpse 
of  His  face  !  Dear  cousin,"  and  he  took  her  hand 
in  his,  "let  the  thought  of  the  'exceeding  and 
eternal  weight  of  glory '  your  loved  one  is  now 
enjoying,  and  which  you  will  one  day  share  with 
him,  comfort  you  in  your  loneliness  and  sorrow." 

"  It  does,  it  does  F*  she  said  tremulously, 
"  that  and  the  sweet  sense  of  His  abiding  love, 
and  presence  who  can  never  die  and  never 
change.  I  am  far  from  unhappy,  Cousin  Cyril. 
I  have  found  truth  in  those  beautiful  words, 

"Then  sorrow  touched  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray, 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 
We  never  saw  by  day.1 " 

They  had  been  comparatively  alone  for  the 
moment,  no  one  near  enough  to  overhear  the 
low-toned  talk  between  them. 


148  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

The  voting  minister  was  greatly  pleased  with 
Viamede — the  more  so  the  more  he  saw  of  it — 
and  with  his  new-found  relatives,  the  more  and 
better  he  became  acquainted  with  them  ;  while 
they  found  him  all  his  earnest,  scriptural  preach- 
ing  had  led  them  to  expect. 

His  religion  was  not  a  mask,  or  a  garment 
to  !>e  worn  only  in  the  pulpit  or  on  the  Sabbath, 
but  permeated  his  whole  life  and  conversation  ; 
as  was  the  case  with  most  if  not  all  of  those 
with  whom  he  now  sojourned  ;  and  like  them, 
he  was  a  happy  Christian  ;  content  with  the  al- 
lotments of  God's  providence,  walking  joyously 
in  the  light  of  his  countenance,  making  it  the 
one  purpose  and  effort  of  his  life  to  live  to  God's 
glory  and  bring  others  to  share  in  the  blessed 
service. 

He  was  strongly  urged  to  spend  the  Winter  at 
Viamede  as  his  cousin's  guest,  and  preacher  to 
the  two  churches. 

He  took  a  day  or  two  to  consider  the  matter, 
then,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all  concerned, 
consented  to  remain,  thanking  his  cousins 
warmly  for  their  kindness  in  giving  him  so 
sweet  a  home ;  for  they  made  him  feel  that  he 
was  entirely  one  of  themselves,  always  welcome 
in  their  midst,  yet  at  perfect  liberty  to  withdraw 
into  the  seclusion  of  his  own  apartments  when- 
ever duty  or  inclination  called  him  to  do  so. 

The  well-stocked  library  supplied  him  with 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  149 

all  needed  books,  there  were  servants  to  wait 
upon  him,  horses  at  his  disposal,  in  short,  noth- 
ing wanting  for  purposes  of  work  or  of  recreation. 
Again  and  again  he  said  to  himself,  or  in  his 
letters  to  those  in  the  home  he  had  left,  that 
"  the  lines  had  fallen  to  him  in  pleasant  places." 

In  the  meantime  Elsie  found  the  truth  as  ex- 
pounded by  him  from  Sabbath  to  Sabbath,  and 
in  the  week-day  evening  service  and  the  family 
worship,  most  comforting  and  sustaining  ;  while 
his  intelligent,  agreeable  conversation  and  cheer- 
ful companionship  were  most  enjoyable  at  other 
times. 

"  Cousin  Cyril "  soon  became  a  great  favorite 
with  those  who  claimed  the  right  to  call  him  so, 
and  very  much  liked  and  looked  up  to  by  Isa- 
dore,  Molly,  and  the  rest  to  whom  he  was  simply 
Mr.  Keith. 

In  common  with  all  others  who  knew  them, 
he  admired  his  young  cousins,  Elsie  and  Violet, 
extremely,  and  found  their  society  delightful. 

Molly's  sad  affliction  called  forth,  from  the 
first,  his  deepest  commiseration  ;  her  brave  en- 
durance of  it,  her  uniform  cheerfulness  under 
it,  his  strong  admiration  and  respecv. 

Yet  he  presently  discovered  that  Isadore  Conly 
had  stronger  attractions  for  him  than  any  other 
woman  he  had  ever  met.  It  was  not  her  beaut*1 
alone,  her  refinement,  her  many  accomplish 
ments,  but  principally  her  noble  qualities  of 
mind  and  heart,  gradually  opening  themselves 


150  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

to  his  view  as  day  after  day  they  met  in  the  un- 
restrained familiar  intercourse  of  the  home  circle, 
or  walked  or  rode  out  together,  sometimes  in 
the  company  of  others,  sometimes  alone. 
t  Mr.  Embury  made  good  use  of  the  permission 
Mrs.  Travilla  had  granted  him,  and  occasionally 
forestalling  Cyril's  attentions,  led  the  latter  to 
look  upon  him  as  a  rival. 

Molly  watched  it  all,  and  though  now  one  and 
now  the  other  devoted  an  hour  to  her,  sitting  by 
her  side  in  the  house  doing  his  best  to  entertain1 
her  with  conversation,  or  pushing  her  wheeled 
chair  about  the  walks  in  the  beautiful  grounds, 
or  taking  her  out  for  a  drive,  thought  both  were 
in  pursuit  of  Isa. 

It  was  their  pleasure  to  wait  upon  Isa,  Elsie 
and  Vi,  while  pity  and  benevolence  alone  led 
them  to  bestow  some  time  and  effort  upon  her- 
self— a  poor  cripple  whom  no  one  could  really 
enjoy  taking  about. 

She  had  but  a  modest  opinion  of  her  own  at- 
tractions, and  would  have  been  surprised  to  learn 
ihow  greatly  she  was  really  admired  by  both  gen- 
tlemen, for  her  good  sense,  her  talent,  energy 
and  perseverance  in  her  chosen  line  of  work,  and 
her  constant  cheerfulness ;  how  brilliant  and 
entertaining  they  often  found  her  talk,  pro- 
nouncing it  "bright,  sparkling,  witty ;"  how  at- 
tractive her  intellectual  countanence,  and  her 
bright,  dark,  expressive  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Something  the  heart  must  have  to  cherish, 
Most  love  and  joy,  and  sorrow  learn  ; 

Something  with  passion  clasp  or  perish, 
And  in  itself  to  ashes  burn." — Longfellow. 

'  MOLLY,  how  you  do  work  !  a  great  deal  too 
hard,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  younger  Elsie,  coming 
into  her  cousin's  room,  to  find  her  at  her  writing 
desk,  pen  in  hand,  as  usual,  an  unfinished  manu- 
script before  her,  and  books  and  papers  scattered 
about. 

Molly  looked  up  with  a  forced  smile  :  she  was 
not  in  mirthful  mood. 

"  It  is  because  I  am  so  slow  that  I  must  keep 
at  it  or  I  get  nothing  done." 

'""Well,  there's  no  need,"  said  Elsie,  "and 
really,  Molly  dear,  I  do  believe  you  would  gain 
time  by  resting  more  and  oftener  than  you  do. 
Who  can  work  fast  and  well  when  brain  and 
body  are  both  weary  ?  I  have  come  to  ask  if 
you  will  take  a  drive  with  our  two  grandpas, 
grandma  and  Mrs.  Carrington  ?" 

"Thank  you  kindly,  but  I  can't  spare  the 
time  to-day." 

"But  don't  you  think  you  ought?  Your 
health  is  cf  more  importance  than  that  manu- 
script. I  am  sure,  Molly,  you  need  the  rest.  J 


152  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

have  noticed  that  you  are  growing  thin  and  pale 
of  late,  and  look  tired  almost  all  the  time." 

"I  was  out  for  an  hour  thislhorning." 

"  An  hour  !  and  the  weather  is  so  delightful, 
everything  out  of  doors  looking  so  lovely,  that  the 
rest  of  us  find  it  next  to  impossible  to  content 
ourselves  within  doors  for  an  hour.  Some  of  us 
are  going  to  play  croquet.  If  you  will  not 
drive,  won't  you  let  one  of  the  servants  wheel 
you  out  there — near  enough  to  enable  you  to 
watch  the  game  ?" 

"Ploase  don't  think  me  ungracious,"  Molly 
answered,  coloring,  "but  I  really  should  prefer 
to  stay  here  and  work." 

"  I  think  Aunt  Enna  is  going  with  us,  and 
you  will  be  left  quite  alone,  unless  you  will  let 
me  stay,  or  send  a  servant  to  sit  with  you,"  Elsie 


But  Molly  insisted  that  she  would  rather  be 
alone.  "  And  you  know,"  she  added,  pointing 
to  a  silver  hand  bell  on  the  table  before  her,  "I 
can  ring  if  I  need  anything." 

So  Elsie  went  rather  sadly  away,  more  than 
half  suspecting  that  Molly  was  grieving  over  her 
inability  to  move  about  as  others  did,  and  take 
part  in  the  active  sports  they  found  so  enjoyable 
and  healthful. 

And  indeed  she  had  hardly  closed  the  door 
between  them  when  the  tears  began  to  roll  down 
Molly's  cheeks.  She  wiped  them  away  and  tried 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  153 

to  go  on  with  her  work ;  but  they  came  faster 
and  faster,  till  throwing  down  her  pen  she  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  burst  into  passionate 
weeping,  sobs  shaking  her  whole  frame. 

A  longing  so  intense  had  come  over  her  to 
leave  that  chair,  to  walk,  to  run,  to  leap  and 
dance,  as  she  had  delighted  to  do  in  the  old 
days  before  that  terrible  fall.  She  wanted  to 
wander  over  the  velvety  lawn  beneath  her  win- 
dows, to  pluck  for  herself  the  many-hued,  sweet- 
scented  flowers,  growing  here  and  there  in  the 
grass.  Kind  hands  were  always  ready  to  gather 
and  bring  them  to  her,  but  it  was  not  like  walk- 
ing about  among  them,  stooping  down  and 
plucking  them  with  her  own  fingers. 

Oh  to  feel  her  feet  under  her  and  wander  at 
her  own  sweet  will  about  the  beautiful  grounds, 
over  the  hills  and  through  the  woods  !  Oh  to 
feel  that  she  was  a  fit  mate  for  some  one  who 
might  some  day  love  and  cherish  her  as  Mr. 
Travilla  had  loved  and  cherished  her  whom  he 
so  fondly  called  his  "little  wife  !" 

She  pitied  her  cousin  for  her  sad  bereavement; 
her  heart  had  often,  often  bled  for  her  because 
of  her  loss  ;  but  ah  !  it  were  "better  to  have 
loved  and  lost,  than  never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

Never  to  love,  never  to  be  loved,  that  was  the 
hardest  part  of  it  all. 

There  was  Dick,  to  be  sure,  the  dear  fellow  ! 
how  she  did  love  him  !  and  she  believed  he 


154  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

loved  her  almost  as  well ;  but  the  time  would 
come  when  another  would  have  the  first  place  in 
his  heart ;  perhaps  it  had  already  come. 

Her  mother's  affection  was  something,  but  it 
was  the  love  of  a  stronger  nature  than  her  own 
that  she  craved,  a  staff  to  lean  upon,  a  guiding, 
protecting  love,  a  support  such  as  is  the  strong, 
stately  oak  to  the  delicate,  clinging  vine. 

There  were  times  when  she  keenly  enjoyed 
her  independence,  perfect  liberty  to  control  her 
own  actions  and  choose  her  own  work ;  her 
ability  to  earn  a  livelihood  for  herself ;  but  at 
this  moment  all  that  was  as  nothing. 

Usually  she  was  submissive  under  her  afflic- 
tion ;  now  her  heart  rebelled  fiercely  against  it. 
She  called  it  a  hard  and  cruel  fate,  to  which  she 
could  not,  would  not  be  resigned. 

She  was  frightened  at  herself  as  she  felt  that 
she  was  so  rebellious,  and  that  she  was  envying 
the  happiness  of  the  cousins  who  had  for  years 
treated  her  with  unvarying  kindness ;  that  her 
lot  seemed  the  harder  by  contrast  with  theirs. 

And  yet  how  well  she  knew  that  theirs  was 
not  perfect  happiness — that  the  death  of  the 
husband  and  father  had  been  a  sore  trial  to  them 
all. 

Through  the  open  window  she  saw  the  hand- 
some, easy-rolling  family  carriage  drive  away 
and  disappear  among  the  trees  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  lawn ;  then  the  croquet  party  setting 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  155 

out  for  the  scene  of  their  proposed  game,  which 
was  at  some  little  distance  from  the  mansion, 
though  within  the  grounds. 

She  noticed  that  Isa  and  Mr.  Keith  walked 
first — very  close  together,  and  looking  very  like 
a  pair  of  lovers,  she  thought — then  Mr.  Embury 
with  Violet's  graceful,  girlish  figure  by  his  side, 
she  walking  with  a  free,  springing  step  that 
once  poor  Molly  might  have  emulated,  as  she 
called  to  mind  with  a  bitter  groan  and  an  almost 
frantic  effort  to  rise  from  her  chair. 

Ah,  what  was  it  that  so  sharpened  the  sting 
brought  by  the  thought  of  her  own  impotence, 
as  she  saw  Vi's  bright,  beautiful  face  uplifted  to 
that  of  her  companion  ?  A  sudden  glimpse  into 
her  own  heart  sent  a  crimson  tide  all  over  the 
poor  girl's  face. 

"  0  Molly  Percival,  what  a  fool  you  are  !"  she 
exclaimed  half  aloud,  then  burst  into  hysterical 
weeping  ;  but  calming  herself  almost  instantly. 
"No,  I  will  not,  will  not  be  so  weak  !"  she  said, 
turning  resolutely  from  the  window.  "  I  have 
been  happy  in  my  work,  happy  and  content,  and 
so  will  I  be  again.  No  foolish  impossible  dreams 
for  you,  Molly  Percival !  no  dog  in  the  manger 
feelings  either  ;  you  shall  not  indulge  them." 

But  the  thread  of  thought  was  broken  and 
lost,  and  she  tried  in  vain  to  recover  it ;  a  dis- 
tant hum  of  blithe  voices  came  now  and  again 
to  her  ear  with  disturbing  influence. 


156  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

She  could  not  rise  and  go  away  from  it. 

Again  the  pen  was  laid  aside,  and  lying  back 
in  her  chair  with  her  head  against  its  cushions, 
she  closed  her  eyes  with  a  weary  sigh,  a  tear 
trickling  slowly  down  her  cheek. 

"  I  cannot  work,"  she  murmured.  "  Ah,  if  I 
could  only  stop  thinking  these  miserable,  wicked 
thoughts  !" 

Mrs.  Travilla,  returning  from  a  visit  to  the 
quarter,  stopped  a  moment  to  watch  the  croquet 
players. 

"Where  is  Molly?"  she  asked  of  her  eldest 
daughter  ;  "  did  she  go  with  your  grandpa  and 
the  others?" 

"  No,  mamma,  she  is  in  her  room,  hard  at 
work  as  usual,  poor  thing  !" 

"  She  is  altogether  too  devoted  to  her  work; 
she  ought  to  be  out  enjoying  this  delicious 
weather.  Surely  you  did  not  neglect  to  invite 
her  to  join  you  here,  Elsie  ?" 

"  No,  mamma,  I  did  my  best  to  persuade  her. 
I  can  hardly  bear  to  think  she  is  shut  up  there 
alone,  while  all  the  rest  of  us  are  having  so 
pleasant  an  afternoon." 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  Mr.  Embury  remarked,  "  and 
I  was  strongly  tempted  to  venture  into  her 
sanctum  and  try  my  powers  of  persuasion  ;  but 
refrained  lest  I  should  but  disturb  the  flow  of 
thought  and  get  myself  into  disgrace  without 
accomplishing  my  end.  Have  you  the  courage 
to  attempt  the  thing,  Mrs.  Travilla?" 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  157 

"I  think  I  must  try,"  she  answered,  with  a 
smile,  as  she  turned  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  house. 

She  found  Molly  at  work,  busied  over  a  trans- 
lation for  which  she  had  laid  aside  the  unfinished 
story  interrupted  by  the  younger  Elsie's  visit. 

She  welcomed  her  cousin  with  a  smile,  but 
aot  a  very  bright  or  mirthful  one,  and  traces  of 
tears  about  her  eyes  were  very  evident. 

"  My  dear  child,"  Elsie  said,  in  tones  as  ten- 
der and  compassionate  as  she  would  have  used 
to  one  of  her  own  darlings,  and  laying  her  hand 
affectionately  on  the  young  girl's  shoulder,  "  I 
do  not  like  to  see  you  so  hard  at  work  while 
every  one  else  is  out  enjoying  this  delightful 
weather.  How  can  you  resist  the  call  of  all  the 
bloom  and  beauty  you  can  see  from  your  win- 
dow there  ?" 

"  It  is  attractive,  cousin,"  Molly  answered  ; 
"  I  could  not  resist  it  if — if  I  could  run  about 
as  others  do,"  she  added,  with  a  tremble  in  her 
voice. 

"  My  poor,  poor  child  !"  Elsie  said  with  emo- 
tion, bending  down  to  press  a  kiss  on  the  girl's 
forehead. 

Molly  threw  her  arms  about  her,  and  burst 
into  tears  and  sobs. 

"  Oh  it  is  so  hard,  so  hard  !  so  cruel  that  I 
must  sit  here  a  helpless  cripple  all  my  days !  How 
can  I  bear  it,  for  years  and  years,  it  may  be  !" 


153  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"Dear  child,  ' sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof.'  Let  us  live  one  day  at  a  time, 
leaving  the  future  with  our  heavenly  Father, 
trusting  in  His  promise  that  as  our  day  our 
strength  shall  be.  Rutherford  says,  '  These  many 
days  I  have  had  no  morrow  at  all.'  If  it  were 
so  with  all  of  us,  how  the  burdens  would  be 
lightened  !  for  a  very  large  part  of  them  is  ap- 
prehension for  the  future.  Is  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  my  weakness  and 
cowardice." 

"Dear  child,  I  have  often  admired  your 
strength  and  courage  under  a  trial  I  fear  I 
should  not  bear  half  so  well." 

Molly  lifted  to  her  cousin's  a  face  full  of  won- 
der, surprise  and  gratitude ;  then  it  clouded 
again  and  tears  trembled  in  her  eyes  and  in  her 
Toice,  as  she  said,  "  But,  Cousin  Elsie,  you  must 
let  me  work  ;  it  is  my  life,  my  happiness  ;  the 
only  kind  I  can  ever  hope  for,  ever  have.  Others 
may  busy  themselves  with  household  cares,  may 
fill  their  hearts  with  the  sweet  loves  of  kind  hus- 
bands and  dear  little  children  ;  but  these  things 
are  not  for  me.  0  cousin,  forgive  me  !"  she 
cried,  as  she  saw  the  pained  look  in  Elsie's  face. 
"  I  did  not  mean — I  did  not  intend — " 

"To  remind  me  of  the  past,"  Elsie  whis- 
pered, struggling  with  her  tears.  "  It  is  full  of 
sweet  memories,  that  I  would  not  be  without 
for  anything.  Oh  true  indeed  is.  i 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD  15£ 

Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost. 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

"  0  Cousin  Elsie,  your  faith  and  patience  are 
beautiful !"  cried  Molly,  impulsively.  "  You 
never  murmur  at  your  cross,  you  are  satisfied 
with  all  God  sends.  I  wish  it  were  so  with  me, 
but — 0  cousin,  cousin,  my  very  worst  trouble  is 
that  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  a  Christian  !  that  I 
have  been  deceiving  myself  all  these  years  !"  she 
ended  with  a  burst  of  bitter  weeping. 

"  Molly  dear."  Elsie  said,  folding  her  in  her 
arms  and  striving  to  soothe  her  with  caresses, 
"you  surprise  me  very  much,  for  I  have  long 
seen  the  lonely  fruit  of  the  Spirit  in  your  life 
and  conversation.  Do  you  not  love  Jesus  and 
trust  in  him  alone  for  salvation  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  did,  and  oh  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  not  belonging  to  him  !  it  breaks  my  heart !" 

"  Then  why  should  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Because  I  find  so  much  of  evil  in  myself. 
If  you  knew  the  rebellious  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings I  have  had  this  very  day  you  would  not 
think  me  a  Christian.  I  have  hated  myself  be- 
cause of  them." 

"  You  have  struggled  to  cast  them  out,  you 
have  not  encouraged  or  loved  them.  Is  that 
what  they  do  who  have  no  love  to  Christ  ?  no  de- 
sire after  conformity  to  his  will  ?  It  is  the  child 
of  God  who  hates  sin  and  struggles  against  it. 
But  it  is  not  necessary  to  decide  whether 


160  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

you  have  or  have  not  been  mistaken  in  your 
past  experience,  since  you  may  come  to  Jesus  now 
just  as  if  you  had  never  come  before  :  give  your- 
self to  him  and  accept  his  offered  salvation  with- 
out stopping  to  ask  whether  it  is  for  the  first  or 
the  ten  thousandth  time.  Oh  that  is  always  my 
comfort  when  assailed  by  doubts  and  fears  I 
'  Behold,  now  is  the  accepted  time ;  behold, 
now  is  the  day  of  salvation.'  Jesus  says,  to-day 
and  every  day,  '  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor 
and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.' 
*  Him  that  cometh  unto  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast 
out.'" 

Glad  tears  glistened  in  Molly's  eyes.  "And 
he  will  pardon  my  iniquity  though  it  is  so  great." 
she  murmured,  with  trembling  lip  and  half 
averted  face :  "he  will  forgive  all  my  trans- 
gressions and  my  sins,  cleanse  me  from  them 
and  love  me  freely." 

<  "  Yes,  dear  child,  he  will.  And  now  put  away 
your  work  for  the  rest  of  this  day  and  come  out 
into  the  pure,  sweet  air.  If  we  weary  our  poor, 
weak  bodies  too  much,  Satan  is  but  too  ready  to 
take  advantage  of  our  physical  condition  to  as- 
sault us  with  temptations,  doubts  and  fears." 

"  I  will  do  as  you  think  best,  cousin,"  was  the 
submissive  reply. 

Elsie  at  once  summoned  a  servant,  and  in  a 
few  moments  Molly's  chair  was  rolling  along  the 
gravelled  walks,  underneath  the  grand  old  trees, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  161 

a  gentle  breeze  from  the  lakelet,  laden  with  the 
scent  of  magnolias  and  orange  blossoms,  gath- 
ered in  its  passage  across  the  lawn,  softly  fan- 
ning her  cheek,  her  cousin  walking  by  her  side 
and  entertaining  her  with  pleasant  chat. 

Kosie  and  Walter  came  running  to  meet  them. 
They  were  glad  to  see  Molly  out :  they  filled  her 
lap  with  flowers  and  her  ears  with  their  sweet  in- 
nocent prattle,  her  heart  growing  lighter  as  she 
listened  and  drank  in  beside  all  the  sweet  sights 
and  scents  and  sounds  of  nature  in  her  most 
bountiful  mood. 

They  made  a  partial  circuit  of  the  grounds 
that  at  last  brought  them  to  the  croquet  players, 
who,  one  and  all,  greeted  Molly's  arrival  with 
expressions  of  satisfaction  or  delight. 

Each  brought  an  offering  of  bud  or  blossom, 
the  loveliest  and  sweetest  of  flowers  were  scattered 
so  profusely  on  every  hand. 

Mr.  Embury's  was  a  half  blown  rose,  and 
Elsie,  furtively  watching  her  charge,  noted  the 
quick  blush  with  which  it  was  received,  the  care 
with  which  it  was  stealthily  treasured  afterward. 

A  suspicion  stirred  in  her  breast,  a  fear  that 
made  her  heart  tremble  and  ache  for  the  poor 
girl. 

Mr.  Embury  spent  the  evening  at  Viamede. 
Molly  was  in  the  parlor  with  the  rest,  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  he  was  close  at  her  side. 

Both  talked  more  than  usual,  often  addressing 


162  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

each  other,  and  seemed  to  outdo  themselves  in 
sparkling  wit  and  brilliant  repartee. 

Molly's  cheeks  glowed  and  her  eyes  shone: 
she  had  never  been  so  handsome  or  fascinating 
before,  and  Mr.  Embury  hung  upon  her  words. 

Elsie's  heart  sank  as  she  saw  it  all.  "My 
poor  child !"  she  sighed  to  herself.  ' '  I  must  warn 
him  that  her  affections  are  not  to  be  trifled  with. 
He  may  think  her  sad  affliction  is  her  shield — 
raising  a  barrier  that  she  herself  must  know  to 
be  impassable — but  when  was  heart  controlled 
by  reason  ?" 

The  next  morning  Enna,  putting  her  head 
in  at  the  door  of  the  dressing-room  where  her 
niece  was  busy  with  her  little  ones,  said  :  "  Elsie, 
I  wish  you'd  come  and  speak  a  word  to  Molly. 
She'll  hear  reason  from  you,  maybe,  though  she 
thinks  I  haven't  sense  enough  to  give  her  any 
advice." 

"What  is  it?"  Elsie  asked,  obeying  the  sum- 
mons  at  once,  leaving  Rosie  and  Walter  in  Aunt 
Chloe's  charge. 

"  Just  come  to  her  room,  won't  you  ?"  Enna 
said,  leading  the  way.  "  I  don't  see  what  pos- 
sesses the  child  to  act  so.  He's  handsome  and 
rich  and  everything  a  reasonable  woman  could 
ask.  I  want  you  to —  But  there  !  he's  gone,  and 
it's  too  late  P 

Elsie  following  her  glance  through  a  window 
ihey  were  passing,  saw  Mr.  Embury's  carriage 
•driving  away. 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  164 

"  Did  he  ask  Molly  to  go  with  him  ?"  she  in- 
quired. 

'•'  Yes,  and  she  wouldn't  do  it ;  though  I  did 
all  I  could  to  make  her.  Come  and  speak  to  her 
though,  so  she'll  know  better  next  time." 

Molly  sat  in  an  attitude  of  dejection,  her  face 
hidden  in  her  hands,  and  did  not  seem  conscious 
of  their  entrance  until  Elsie's  hand  was  softly 
laid  on  her  shoulder,  while  the  pitying  voice 
asked,  '-'What  is  the  matter,  Molly  dear?" 

Then  the  bowed  head  was  lifted,  and  Elsie  saw 
that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  her  cheeks  wet 
with  them. 

"Oh,  Cousin  Elsie,"  she  sobbed,  " don't  ask 
me  to  go  with  him.  I  must  not.  I  must  try  to 
keep  away  from  him.  Oh,  why  did  we  ever 
meet  ?  Shall  I  ever  be  rid  of  this  weary  pain  in 
my  heart?" 

"Yes,  dear  child,  it  will  pass  away  in  timt>" 
her  cousin  whispered,  putting  kind  arms  about 
her.  "  He  must  stay  away,  and  you  will  learn 
to  be  happy  again  in  your  work,  and,  better  still, 
in  the  one  love  that  can  never  fail  you  in  this 
world  or  the  next." 

"  He  is  a  good  man,  don't  blame  him,"  mur- 
mured the  poor  girl,  hiding  her  blushing  face  on 
her  cousin's  shoulder. 

"  I  will  try  not ;  but  such  selfish  thoughtless- 
ness is  almost  unpardonable.  He  must  not 
come  here  any  more." 

"  No.  no  :  don't  tell  him  that  I  don't  let  him 


164  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

suspect  that  I — care  whether  he  does  or  not. 
And  he  enjoys  it  so  much,  he  is  so  lonely  in  his 
own  house." 

"Do  not  fear  that  I  will  betray  you,  poor, 
dear,  unselfish  child,"  Elsie  said ;  "  but  I  must 
protect  you  somehow.  And,  Molly  dear,  though 
I  believe  married  life  is  the  happiest,  where 
there  is  deep,  true  love,  founded  on  respect  and 
perfect  confidence,  I  am  quite  sure  that  it  is 
possible  for  a  woman  to  be  very  happy  though 
sha  live  single  all  her  days.  There  is  my  dear 
old  Aunt  Wealthy,  for  example ;  she  must  be 
now  nearly  ninety.  I  have  knoAvn  her  for  more 
than  twenty  years,  and  always  as  one  of  the 
cheeriest  and  happiest  people  I  ever  saw." 

"Did  she  ever  meet  any  one  she  cared  for  ?" 
Molly  asked,  still  hiding  her  face. 

"  Yes  :  she  had  a  sore  disappointment  in  her 
young  days,  as  she  told  me  herself ;  but  the 
wound  healed  in  time." 

Enna  had  seated  herself  in  a  low  rocking- 
chair  by  a  window,  and  with  hands  folded  in  her 
lap  was  keenly  eying  her  daughter  and  niece. 

"  What  are  you  two  saying  to  each  other  ?" 
she  demanded.  "  You  talk  so  low  I  can  only 
catch  a  word  now  and  then  ;  but  I  don't  believe, 
Elsie,  that  you  are  coaxing  Molly  to  behave  as 
I  want  her  to." 

"Poor  mother!"  sighed  Molly;  "she  can't 
understand  it." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Man's  leve  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart, 
'Tis  woman's  whole  existence."— Byron: 

FINDING  her  own  thoughts  full  of  Molly  and 
her  troubles  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else, 
Elsie  presently  dismissed  her  little  ones  to  their 
play,  spent  a  few  moments  in  consulting  her 
best  Friend,  then  went  in  search  of  her  father. 

She  would  not  betray  Molly  even  to  him,  but 
it  would  be  safe,  helpful,  comforting  to  confide 
her  own  doubts,  fears  and  anxieties. 

She  found  him  in  the  library,  and  alone.  He 
was  standing  before  a  window  with  his  back  to- 
ward her  as  she  entered,  and  did  not  seem  to 
hear  her  light  footsteps  till  she  was  close  at  his 
side  ;  then  turning  hastily,  he  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  strained  her  to  his  breast,  and  kissed  her 
again  and  again  with  passionate  fondness. 

"What  is  it,  papa?"  she  asked  in  surprise,  look- 
ing up  into  his  face  and  seeing  it  full  of  emotion 
that  seemed  a  strange  blending  of  pain  and 
pleasure. 

"  My  darling,  my  darling !"  he  said  in  low, 
tremulous  tones,  holding  her  close,  and  repeat- 
ing his  caresses,  "  how  shall  I  ever  make  up  to 
you  for  the  sorrows  of  your  infancy  ?  the  culpa- 


166  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

We,  heartless  neglect  with  which  your  lather 
treated  you  then  ?  I  see  I  surprise  you  by  re- 
ferring to  it  now,  but  I  have  been  talking  with 
one  of  the  old  servants  who  retains  a  vivid  re- 
membrance of  your  babyhood  here,  and  your 
heart-rending  grief  when  forced  away  from  your 
home  and  almost  all  you  had  learned  to  love. 
Such  a  picture  of  it  has  she  given  me  that  I 
fairly  long  to  go  back  to  that  time  and  take  my 
baby  girl  to  my  heart  and  comfort  her." 

"Dear  papa,  I  hardly  remember  it  now,"  she 
said,  laying  her  head  down  on  his  breast ;  "  and 
oh  I  have  the  sweetest  memories  of  years  and 
years  of  the  tenderest  fatherly  love  and  care '. 
— love  and  care  that  surround  me  still  and  form 
one  of  my  best  and  dearest  earthly  blessings.  If 
the  Lord  will,  may  we  long  be  spared  to  each 
other,  my  dear,  dear  father !" 

His  response  was  a  fervent  "Amen,"  and  sit- 
ting down  upon  a  sofa,  he  drew  her  to  a  seat  by 
his  side. 

"  I  have  come  to  you  for  help  and  advice  in  a 
new  difficulty,  papa,"  she  said.  "  I  fear  I  have 
made  a  sad  mistake  in  allowing  Mr.  Embury's 
visits  here  ;  and  yet — I  cannot  exclude  from  my 
house  gentlemen  visitors  of  unexceptionable 
character." 

"  No ;  and  he  appears  to  be  all  that,  and 
more — a  sincere,  earnest  Christian.  But  what 
ia  it  that  you  regret  or  fear  ?  Elsie  is  engaged, 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  16? 

Violet  very  young,  and  for  Isa — supposing  there 
were  any  such  prospect — it  would  be  a  most 
suitable  match." 

"  But  Molly  ?" 

"  Molly  I"  he  exclaimed  with  a  start.  "  Poor 
child  !  she  could  never  think  of  marriage  !" 

"No,  papa,  but  hearts  don't  reason  and  love 
comes  unbidden." 

"  And  you  think  she  cares  for  him  ?" 

"  It  would  not  be  strange  if  she  should  ;  he  is  a 
very  agreeable  man,  and —  Did  you  notice  them 
last  night  ?  I  thought  his  actions  decidedly 
loverlike,  and  there  was  something  in  her  face 
that  made  me  tremble  for  the  poor  child's  fu- 
ture peace  of  mind." 

"  Poor  child  !"  he  echoed  ;  "  poor,  poor  child  I 
I  am  glad  you  called  my  attention  to  it.  I  must 
give  Embury  a  hint :  he  cannot,  of  course,  be 
thinking  what  he  is  about :  for  I  am  sure  he  is 
not  the  heartless  wretch  he  would  be  if  he  could 
wreck  her  happiness  intentionally." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  papa.  You  will  know  ex- 
actly how  to  do  it  without  the  least  compromise 
of  the  dear  girl's  womanly  pride  and  delicacy  of 
feeling,  or  offending  or  hurting  him. 

"You  spoke  just  now  of  Isa,"  she  went  on 
presently.  "  I  should  be  glad  if  she  and  Mr. 
Embury  fancied  each  other  ;  such  a  match  would 
be  very  pleasing  to  Aunt  Louise  on  account  of 
his  wealth  and  social  position,  little  as  she  would 
like  his  piety,  but—  " 


168  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Well,  daughter  ?" 

"Have  you  noticed  how  constantly  Cyril 
geeks  her  companionship  ?  how  naturally  the 
others  leave  those  two  to  pair  off  together? 
They  sit  and  read  or  chat  together  by  the  hour 
out  yonder  under  the  trees  ;  scarce  a  day  passes 
without  its  long,  lonely  ramble  or  ride.  He 
talks  to  her  of  his  work  too,  in  which  his  whole 
heart  is  engaged ;  listens  attentively  to  all  she 
says — turning  in  the  most  interested  way  to  her 
for  an  opinion,  no  matter  what  subject  is  broach- 
ed ;  listens  with  delight  to  her  music  too,  and 
sometimes  reads  his  sermons  to  her  for  the  bene- 
fit of  her  criticism,  or  consults  her  in  regard  to 
his  choice  of  a  text." 

Mr.  Dinsmore's  countenance  expressed  ex- 
treme satisfaction.  "  I  am  glad  of  it,"  he  said  ; 
"they  seem  made  for  each  other." 

"  But  Aunt  Louise,  papa  ?" 

"  Will  not  fancy  a  poor  clergyman  for  a  son- 
in-law,  yet  will  consider  even  that  better  than 
not  seeing  her  daughter  married  at  all.  And  if 
the  two  most  intimately  concerned  are  happy 
and  content,  what  matter  for  the  rest  ?" 

"  Oh  papa  !"  Elsie  returned  with  a  smile  that 
had  something  of  old-time  archness  in  it,  "have 
not  your  opinions  in  regard  to  the  rights  of 
parents  and  the  duties'  of  children  changed 
somewhat  since  my  early  girlhood  ?" 

"  Circumstances  alter  cases,"  he  answered  with 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  169 

a  playful  caress.  "  I  should  never  have  object- 
ed to  so  wise  a  choice  as  Isa's — always  suppos- 
ing that  she  has  made  the  one  we  are  talking 
of." 

"And  you  will  not  mind  if  Aunt  Louise 
blames  you  ?  or  me  ?" 

"  I  shall  take  all  the  blame  and  not  mind  it 
in  the  least." 

Yes,  Cyril  Keith  and  Isadore  Conly  were  made 
for  each  other,  and  had  become  conscious  of  the 
fact,  though  no  word  of  love  had  yet  been 
spoken. 

To  him  she  was  the  sweetest  and  loveliest  of 
her  sex,  in  whom  he  found  a  stronger  union 
of  beauty,  grace,  accomplishments,  sound  sense 
and  earnest  piety  than  in  any  other  young  lady 
of  his  acquaintance  ;  while  to  her  he  was  the 
impersonation  of  all  that  was  truly  noble,  manly 
and  Christian. 

They  were  dreaming  love's  young  dream,  and 
found  intense  enjoyment  each  in  the  other's  so- 
ciety, especially  amid  all  the  loveliness  of  nature 
that  surrounded  them. 

Cyril's  was  a  whole-hearted  consecration  to  his 
divine  Master  and  that  loved  Master's  work,  but 
this  human  love  interfered  not  in  any  way  with 
that,  for  it  is  of  God's  appointment. 

"  '  And  the  Lord  God  said,  It  is  not  good  that 
the  man  should  be  alone ;  I  will  make  him  an 
help  meet  for  him.'  'Whoso  findeth  a  wife 


170  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

findeth  a  good  thing,  and  obtainetli  favour  of 
the  Lord.'" 

"  How  like  you  that  is,  papa  dear,"  Elsie 
said ;  "  but  it  would  be  easier  to  me  to  bear 
blame  myself  than  to  have  it  heaped  upon 
you.  I  suppose,  though,  that  it  would  be  use- 
less to  attempt  any  interference  with  the  course 
of  true  love  ?" 

"Yes;  we  will  simply  let  them  alone." 

Mr.  Dinsmore  rode  over  to  Magnolia  Hall 
that  afternoon  to  seek  an  interview  with  its 
owner  ;  but  learned  that  he  was  not  at  home, 
and  might  not  be  for  a  day  or  two.  No  one 
knew  just  when  he  would  return.  So  the 
only  course  now  left  seemed  to  be  to  wait  till 
he  should  call  again  at  Viarnede. 

He  had  been  an  almost  daily  visitor  of  late, 
and  often  sent  some  token  of  remembrance  by 
a  servant — fruit,  flowers,  game  or  fish,  or  it 
might  be  a  book  from  his  library  which  was 
not  found  in  theirs. 

But  now  one,  two,  three  days  passed  and 
nothing  was  seen  or  heard  of  him. 

Sad,  wearisome  days  they  were  to  Molly  :  men- 
tal labor  was  next  to  impossible  ;  she  could  not 
even  read  with  any  enjoyment ;  her  heart  was 
heavy  with  grief  and  unsatisfied  longing,  inten- 
sified by  her  mothers  constant  reiteration, 
"  You've  offended  him,  and  he'll  never  come 
again  ;  you've  thrown  away  the  best  chance  a 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  171 

girl  ever  had  ;  and  you'll  never  see  another  like 
it." 

Then  it  was  unusually  long  since  she  had 
heard  from  Dick  ;  and  she  had  waited  for  news 
from  a  manuscript  which  had  cost  her  months 
of  hard  work,  and  on  which  great  expectations 
were  based,  till  her  heart  was  sick  with  hope  de- 
ferred. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  that 
Molly,  having  persuaded  her  mother  to  go  for  a 
walk  with  her  grandfather  and  Mrs.  Carrington, 
summoned  a  servant  and  desired  to  be  taken  out 
into  the  grounds. 

She  sat  motionless  in  her  chair  gazing  in 
mournful  silence  on  all  the  luxuriant  beauty  that 
surrounded  her,  while  the  man  wheeled  her  up 
one  walk  and  down  another. 

At  length,  "  That  will  do,  Joe,"  she  said; 
"  you  may  stop  the  chair  under  that  magnolia 
yonder,  and  leave  me  there  for  an  hour." 

"Fse  'fraid  you  git  tired,  Miss  Molly,  and  no- 
body roun'  for  to  wait  on  you,"  he  remarked 
when  he  had  placed  her  in  the  desired  spot. 

"No  ;  I  have  the  bell  here,  and  it  can  be  heard 
at  the  house.  I  have  a  book,  too,  to  amuse  my- 
self with  :  and  the  gardener  yonder  is  within 
eight.  You  need  not  fear  to  leave  me." 

He  walked  away  and  she  opened  her  book. 
But  she  scarcely  looked  at  it.  Her  thoughts 
were  busying  themselves  with  something  else, 
and  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 


172  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

A  quick,  manly  step  on  the  gravel  walk  be- 
hind her  startled  her  and  sent  a  vivid  color  over 
face  and  neck. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Percival ;  I  am  fortu- 
nate indeed  in  finding  you  here  alone,"  a  voice 
said,  close  at  her  side. 

"  Good  morning,' Mr.  Embury,"  she  returned, 
with  a  vain  effort  to  steady  her  tones,  and  with- 
out looking  up. 

He  took  possession  of  a  rustic  seat  close  to 
which  her  chair  was  standing.  "Molly,  my 
dear  Miss  Molly,"  he  said,  in  some  agitation, 
"I  fear  I  have  unwittingly  offended." 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  answered,  bursting  into 
tears  in  spite  of  herself.  "  There,  what  a  baby 
lam!"  dashing  them  angrily  away.  "I  wish 
you  wouldn't  come  here  and  set  me  to  crying." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  something,  let  me  ask  you 
one  question  ;  and  then  if  you  bid  me,  I  will  go 
away  and  never  come  near  you  again,"  he  said, 
taking  her  hand  and  holding  it  fast.  "Molly,  I 
love  you.  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife.  Will 
you?" 

"  Oh  you  don't  mean  it !  you  can't  mean  it  I 
no  man  in  his  senses  would  want  to  marry  me — 
a  poor  helpless  cripple  !"  she  cried,  trying  to  pull 
the  hand  away,  "  and  it's  a  cruel,  cruel  jest ! 
Oh  how  can  you  !"  and  covering  her  face  with 
the  free  hand,  she  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  173 

"  Don't,  don't,  dear  Molly,"  he  entreated. 
*'  I  am  not  jesting,  nor  am  I  rushing  into  this 
thing  hastily  or  thoughtlessly.  Your  very  help- 
lessness draws  me  to  you  and  makes  you  doubly 
dear.  I  want  to  take  care  of  you,  my  poor 
child.  I  want  to  make  up  your  loss  to  you  as 
far  as  my  love  and  sympathy  can  ;  to  make  your 
life  bright  and  happy  in  spite  of  your  terrible 
trial." 

"  You  are  the  noblest,  most  unselfish  man  I 
ever  heard  of,"  she  said,  wiping  away  her  tears 
to  give  him  a  look  of  amazement  and  admira- 
tion ;  "  but  I  cannot  be  so  selfish  as  to  take  all 
when  I  can  give  nothing  in  return." 

"  Do  you  call  yourself — with  your  sweet  face, 
cheery  disposition,  brilliant  talents,  and  conver- 
sational powers  that  render  you  the  most  enter- 
taining and  charming  of  companions — nothing  ? 
I  think  you  a  greater  prize  than  half  the  women 
who  have  the  free  use  of  all  their  limbs." 

"You  are  very  kind  to  say  it." 

"No,  I  am  not,  for  it  is  the  simple,  unvar- 
nished truth.  Molly,  if  you  can  love  me,  I 
should  rather  have  you  than  any  other  woman 
on  earth.  How  your  presence  would  brighten 
my  home  !  I  give  all  indeed  !  you  will  be 
worth  more  to  me  than  all  I  have  to  give  in  re- 
turn. 0  Molly,  have  you  no  love  to  bestow  upon 
poor  me  ?" 

She  had  ceased  the  struggle  to  free  her  hand 


174  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

from  the  strong  yet  tender  clasp  in  which  it 
was  held,  but  her  face  was  averted  and  tears 
were  falling  fast.  His  words  had  sent  a  thrill 
of  exquisite  joy  to  her  heart,  but  instantly  it 
changed  to  bitter  sorrow. 

"  You  cannot  have  counted  the  cost/'  she 
said.  "  I  am  poor  ;  I  have  nothing  at  all  but 
the  pittance  I  earn  by  my  pen.  And  think  :  I 
can  never  walk  by  your  side  :  I  cannot  go 
about  your  house  and  see  that  your  comfort  is 
not  neglected,  or  your  substance  wasted.  I  can- 
not nurse  you  in  sickness  or  wait  upon  you  in 
health  as  another  woman  might.  Oh  cannot 
you  see  that  I  have  nothing  to  give  you  in  return 
for  all  you — in  your  wonderful  generosity — are 
offering  to  me  ?" 

"  Your  love,  dear  girl,  and  the  blessed  priv- 
ilege of  taking  care  of  you,  are  all  I  ask,  all  I 
want — can  you  not  give  me  these  ?" 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  tempt  me  so  ?"  she  cried. 

"  Tempt  you  ?  would  it  be  a  sin  to  love  me  ? 
to  give  yourself  to  me  when  I  want  you  so  much, 
so  very  much  ?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  it  would  be  taking  advantage 
of  the  most  unheard-of  generosity.  What  wo- 
man's heart  could  stand  out  against  it  ?" 

"  Ah,  then  you  do  love  me  !"  he  exclaime  I.  in 
accents  of  joy,  and  lifting  her  hand  to  his '  lips. 
"  You  will  be  mine  ?  my  own  dear  wife  ?  a 
sweet  mother  to  my  darlings.  I  have  brought 


ELSIE  8  WIDO  WHOOD.  175 

them  with  me,  that  their  beauty  and  sweetness, 
their  pretty  innocent  ways,  may  plead  my  cause 
with  you,  for  I  know  that  you  love  little  chil- 
dren." He  was  gone  before  she  could  reply, 
and  the  next  moment  was  at  her  side  again, 
bearing  in  his  arms  two  lovely  little  creatures  of 
three  and  five. 

"  These  are  my  babies,"  he  said,  sitting  down 
with  one  upon  each  knee.  "  Corinna,"  to  the 
eldest,  "  don't  you  want  this  sweet  lady  to  come 
and  live  with  us  and  be  your  dear  mamma?  " 

The  child  took  a  long,  searching  look  into 
Molly's  face  before  she  answered ;  then,  with  a 
bright,  glad  smile  breaking  like  sunlight  over 
her  own,  "  Yes,  papa,  I  do  !  she  said,  emphati- 
cally. "  Won't  you  come,  pretty  lady  ?  Madie 
and  I  will  be  good  children,  and  love  you  ever 
so  much. "  And  she  held  up  her  rosebud  mouth 
for  a  kiss. 

Molly  gave  it  very  heartily. 

"  Me,  too — you  mustn't  fordet  to  tiss  Madie," 
the  little  one  said. 

Molly  motioned  the  father  to  set  the  child  in 
her  lap,  and,  putting  an  arm  about  Corinna, 
petted  and  fondled  them  both  for  a  little,  the 
mother  instinct  stirring  strongly  within  her  the 
while. 

"  There,  that  will  do,  my  pets  ;  we  must  not 
tire  the  dear  lady,"  Mr.  Embury  said  presently, 
lifting  his  youngest  and  setting  her  on  her  feet 


176  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

beside  her  sister.  "  Go  back  now  to  your 
mammy.  See,  yonder  she  is,  waiting  for  you." 

"What  darlings  they  are."  Molly  said,  follow- 
ing them  with  wistful,  longing  eyes. 

"Yes.  Ah,  can  your  heart  resist  their 
appeal  ?" 

"How  could  I,  chained  to  my  chair,,  do  a 
mother's  part  by  them  ?"  she  asked  mournfully, 
and  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  Their  physical  needs  are  well  attended  to," 
he  said,  again  taking  her  hand,  while  his  eyes 
sought  hers  with  wistful,  pleading  tenderness ; 
"it  is  motherly  counsels,  sympathy,  love  they 
want.  Is  it  not  in  your  power  to  give  them  all 
these  ?  I  would  throw  no  burdens  on  you,  love  ; 
I  only  aim  to  show  you  that  the  giving  need  not 
necessarily  be  all  on  my  side,  the  receiving  all 
on  yours." 

"How  kind,  how  noble  you  are,"  she  said,  in 
moved  tones.  "  But  your  relatives  ?  your  other 
children  ?  how  would  they  feel  to  see  you  joined 
for  life  to  a — " 

"Don't  say  it,"  he  interrupted,  in  tones  oi 
tenderest  compassion.  "  My  boys  will  be  drawn 
te  you  by  your  helplessness,  while  they  will  be 
Tery  proud  of  your  talents  and  your  sweetness. 
I  have  no  other  near  relatives  but  two  brothers, 
who  have  no  right  to  concern  themselves  in  the 
matter,  nor  will  be  likely  to  care  to  do  so.  But, 
O,  dearest  girl,  what  shall  I,  what  can  I  say  to 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  17? 

convince  you  that  you  are  my  heart's  desire  ? 
that  I  want  you,  your  love,  your  dear  compan- 
ionship, more  than  tongue  can  tell  ?  Will  you 
refuse  them  to  me  ?" 

She  answered  only  with  a  look,  but  it  said  all 
he  wished. 

"Bless  you,  darling  !"  he  whispered,  putting 
his  arm  about  her,  while  her  head  dropped  upon 
his  shoulder,  "you  have  made  me  very  happy." 

Molly  was  silent,  was  weeping,  but  for  very 
gladness ;  her  heart  sang  for  joy ;  not  that  a 
beautiful  home,  wealth,  and  all  the  luxury  and 
ease  it  could  purchase,  would  now  be  hers,  but 
that  she  was  loved  by  one  so  noble  and  generous, 
so  altogether  worthy  of  her  highest  respect,  her 
warmest  affection,  the  devotion  of  her  whole- 
life,  which  she  inwardly  vowed  should  be  his.  She 
would  strive  to  be  to  him  such  a  wife  as  Elsie 
had  been  to  her  husband,  such  a  mother  to  his 
children  as  her  sweet  cousin  was  to  hers. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  j  saw  her,  and  I  loved  her— 
I  sought  her,  and  I  won." 

"  Across  the  threshold  led. 
And  every  t-ear  kiss'd  off  as  soon  as  shed. 
His  house  she  enters,  there  to  be  a  light 
Shining  within,  when  all  without  is  night  ; 
A  guardian  angel,  o'er  his  life  presiding, 
Doubling  his  pleasure,  and  his  cares  dividing." 

— Roger. 

"  You  declined  a  drive  with  me  the  last  time 
I  asked  you,"  Mr.  Embury  remarked,  breaking 
a  momentary  silence  that  had  fallen  between 
them,  "  but  will  you  not  be  more  gracious  to- 
day ?  My  carriage  is  near  at  hand,  and  I  have 
a  great  desire  to  take  you  for  an  airing — you  and 
the  babies." 

Blushing  deeply,  Molly  said,  "Yes,  if  you 
wish  it,  and  will  bring  me  back  before  I  am 
missed." 

"  I  shall  take  good  care  of  you,  as  who  would 
not  of  his  own  ?"  be  said,  bending  down  to  look 
into  her  face  with  a  proud,  fond  smile  ;  "  yes, 
you  are  mine  now,  dearest,  and  I  shall  never  re- 
sign my  claim.  Ah,"  as  he  lifted  his  head  again, 
"  here  comes  your  uncle,  and  I  fancy  he  eyes  me 
with  distrust.  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  and  he  stepped 
forward  with  outstretched  hand,  "how  do  you 
do,  sir  ?  What  do  you  say  to  receiving  me  into 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  179 

the  family  ?  I  trust  you  will  not  object,  for 
this  dear  girl  intends  to  give  me  the  right  to 
call  you  uncle." 

Mr.  Dinsmore  grasped  the  hand,  looking  in 
silent  astonishment  from  one  to  the  other.  He 
read  the  story  of  their  love  in  both  faces — Molly's 
downcast  and  blushing,  yet  happy ;  Mr.  Em- 
bury's overflowing  with  unfeigned  delight. 

"  I  assure  you,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "  I  am  fully 
aware  that  she  is  a  prize  any  man  might  be  proud 
to  win.  Your  niece  is  no  ordinary  woman  :  her 
gifts  and  graces  are  many  and  great." 

"  She  is  all  that  you  have  said,  and  even 
more,"  her  uncle  returned,  finding  his  voice. 
"And  yet — you  are  quite  sure  that  this  is  not  a 
sudden  impulse  for  which  you  may  some  day  be 
sorry  >" 

He  had  stepped  to  Molly's  other  side  and 
taken  her  hand  in  his,  in  a  protecting,  fatherly 
way.  "It  would  wreck  her  happiness,"  he 
added,  in  moved  tones,  "and  that  is  very  dear 
to  me." 

"  It  cannot  be  dearer  to  you,  sir,  than  it  is  to 
me,"  the  lover  answered;  "and  rest  assured 
your  fears  are  groundless.  It  is  no  sudden  im- 
pulse on  my  part,  but  deliberate  action  taken 
after  weeks  of  careful  and  prayerful  considera- 
tion. You  seem  to  stand  in  the  place  of  a  father 
to  her  ;  will  you  give  her  to  me  ?" 

"  Mr.  Embury,  you  arc  i\i.e  noblest  of  men, 


180  ELSI&  b   WIDOWHOOD. 

and  must  forgive  me  that  I  had  some  suspicion 
that  you  were  thoughtlessly  trifling  with  the 
child's  affections.  I  see  you  hare  won  her 
heart,  and  may  you  be  very  happy  together." 

Mr.  Dinsmore  was  turning  away,  but  Mr. 
Embury  stopped  him. 

"  Let  me  thank  you,  sir,"  he  said,  again  hold- 
ing out  his  hand.  "We  are  going  for  a  little 
drive,"  he  added,  "  and  please  let  no  one  be 
anxious  about  Miss  Percival.  I  am  responsible 
for  her  safe  return." 

Molly's  chair  rolled  on  with  rapid,  steady 
movement  to  the  entrance  to  the  grounds,  where 
Mr.  Embury's  carriage  stood ;  then  she  felt 
herself  carefully,  tenderly  lifted  from  one  to  the 
other  and  comfortably  established  on  a  softly 
cushioned  seat. 

How  like  a  delightful  dream  it  all  seemed — 
the  swift,  pleasant  motion  through  the  pure, 
sweet,  fragrant  air  ;  beautiful  scenery  on  every 
hand;  the  prattle  of  infant  voices  and  the 
whispers  of  love  in  her  ear.  Should  she  not 
awake  presently  to  its  unreality  ?  awake  to  find 
herself  still  the  lonely,  unloved  woman  she  was 
in  her  own  esteem  but  an  hour  ago,  and  who  by 
reason  of  her  sad  infirmity  could  look  forward 
to  nothing  else  through  life  ? 

They  turned  in  at  an  open  gateway,  and 
Molly,  suddenly  rousing  herself,  said,  in  sur- 
prise, "  "We  are  entering  some  one's  private 
grounds,  are  we  not  ?" 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  181 

"  Yes,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "  but  there  is  no 
objection.  The  owner  and  I  are  on  the  most 
intimate  terms.  I  admire  the  place  very  much, 
and  want  you  to  see  it,  so  we  will  drive  all 
around  the  grounds."  And  he  gave  the  order 
to  the  coachman. 

Molly  looked  and  admired.  "Charming! 
almost  if  not  quite  equal  to  Viamedo." 

His  eyes  shone.  "Your  taste  agrees  with 
mine,"  he  said.  "  Look  this  way.  "We  have  a 
good  view  of  the  house  from  here.  What  do 
you  think  of  it  ?" 

"  That  it  is  just  suited  to  its  surroundings, 
and  must  be  a  delightful  residence." 

"  So  it  is  ;  and  I  want  to  show  you  the  inside 
too.  There's  no  objection,"  as  he  read  hesita- 
tion and  disapproval  in  her  face  ;  "the  master 
and  mistress  are  not  there,  and — in  fact  I  have 
charge  of  the  place  just  now,  and  am  quite  at 
liberty  to  show  it  to  strangers." 

The  next  moment  they  drew  up  before  the 
front  entrance.  Mr.  Embury  hastily  alighted 
and  lifted  out  the  little  ones,  saying  in  a  low 
tone  something  which  Molly  did  not  hear  as  he 
set  them  down. 

They  ran  in  at  the  open  door,  and  turning  to 
her  agaip  he  took  her  in  his  strong  arms  and 
bore  her  into  a  lordly  entrance  hall ;  then  on 
through  one  spacious,  elegantly  furnished  room 
after  another  —  parlors,  library,  dining  and 


182  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

drawing-rooms — moving  slowly  that  she  might 
have  time  so  gaze  and  admire,  and  now  and  then 
setting  her  down  for  a  few  moments  in  an  easy 
chair  or  on  a  luxurious  sofa,  usually  before  a 
rare  painting  or  some  other  beautiful  work  of 
art  which  he  thought  she  would  particularly  en- 
joy- 

The  children  had  disappeared,  and  they  were 
quite  alone. 

He  had  reserved  a  charming  boudoir  for  the 
last.  Open  doors  gave  tempting  glimpses  of 
dressing  and  bedrooms  beyond. 

"  These,"  he  said,  placing  her  in  a  delight- 
fully easy,  velvet  cushioned  chair,  and  standing 
by  her  side,  "  are  the  apartments  of  the  mis- 
tress of  the  mansion,  as  you  have  doubtless  al- 
ready conjectured.  What  do  you  think  of 
them?" 

"  That  they  are  very  beautiful,  very  luxuri- 
ous. And  oh  what  a  lovely  view  from  yonder 
window !" 

"  And  from  this,  is  it  not  ?"  he  said,  stepping 
aside  and  turning  her  chair  a  little  that  she 
might  see,  through  a  vista  of  grand  old  trees, 
the  lagoon  beyond  sparkling  in  the  sunlight. 

"Oh  that  is  finer  still!"  she  cried.  "I 
should  think  one  might  almost  be  content  to 
live  a  close  prisoner  here." 

"  Then  I  may  hope  my  dear  wife  will  not  be 
nnhappy  here  ?  will  not  regret  leaving  the 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  183 

beauties  of  Viamede  and  the  charming  society 
there  for  this  place  and  the  companionship  of 
its  owner  ?  Molly,  dearest,  this  is  Magnolia 
Hall ;  you  are  its  mistress,  and  these  are  your 
own  rooms,"  he  said,  kneeling  by  her  side  to 
fold  her  to  his  heart  with  tenderest  caresses. 

"  It  is  too  much,  oh  you  are  too  good  to  me  !" 
she  sobbed,  as  her  head  dropped  upon  his 
shoulder. 

On  leaving  Mr.  Embury  and  Molly,  Mr.  Bins 
more  hastened  to  join  his  wife  and  daughter, 
who  were  sitting  together  on  the  lawn.  The  in- 
terview between  the  lovers  having  taken  place  in 
a  part  of  the  grounds  not  visible  from  where 
they  sat,  they  had  seen  nothing  of  it. 

"  You  look  like  the  bearer  of  glad  tidings, 
my  dear,"  Rose  remarked,  glancing  inquiringly 
at  her  husband  as  he  seated  himself  at  her  side. 

''And  so  I  am,  wife,"  he  answered  joyously. 
*  Elsio,  you  may  spare  yourself  any  further  re- 
grets because  of  your  kindness  to  Mr.  Embury. 
He  is  a  noble,  generous-hearted  fellow,  and  very 
much  in  love  with  our  poor,  dear  Molly.  They 
are  en  gaged." 

"Engaged?"  echoed  both  ladies  simultane- 
ously, as  much  surprised  and  pleased  as  he  had 
hoped  to  see  them. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  and  went  on  to  repeat  what 
had  passed  between  himself  and  the  newly- 
affianced  pair. 


184  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Dear  Molly/'  Elsie  said  with  tears  trembling 
in  her  eyes,  "  I  trust  there  are  many  very  happy 
days  in  store  for  her.  And  how  pleased  Aunt 
Enna  will  be,  she  was  so  desirous  to  bring 
about  the  match." 

"Molly  herself  should  have  the  pleasure  of 
telling  her." 

"Yes,  indeed,  papa." 

"There  is  something  else,"  Mr.  Dinsmore 
said.  "  At  Mr.  Embury's  suggestion  I  wrote  to 
Dick  two  or  three  weeks  ago,  telling  him  that 
there  was  a  good  opening  for  a  physician  here, 
and  asking  if  he  would  not  like  to  come  and 
settle  if  pleased  with  the  country.  His  answer 
came  this  morning,  and  he  will  be  with  ns  in  a 
few  days." 

"How  glad  I  am  !"  was  Elsie's  exclamation. 
"  Molly's  cup  of  happiness  will  be  full  to  over- 
flowing." 

Rose,  too,  was  rejoiced ;  but  she  had  heard 
before  of  the  invitation  to  Dick,  and  was  less 
surprised  at  this  news  than  Elsie  was. 

The  ladies  had  their  work,  Mr.  Dinsmore  the 
morning  paper,  and  the  three  were  still  sitting 
there  when  Mr.  Embury's  carriage  returned. 

Molly's  face  was  radiant  with  happiness  ;  Mr. 
Embury's  also  ;  and  the  faces  of  the  friends  who 
gathered  about  them  in  the  library,  whither  he 
carried  her,  seemed  to  reflect  the  glad  light  IB 
theirs. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  185 

Everybody  was  rejoiced  at  Molly's  good  for- 
tune, and  pleased  to  receive  Mr.  Embury  into 
the  family,  for  they  all  respected  and  liked 
him. 

Enna's  delight  on  hearing  the  news  was  un- 
bounded; she  half  smothered  her  daughter  with 
kisses,  and  exclaimed  over  and  over  again,  "I 
knew  he  wanted  you!  And  didn't  I  tell  you 
there'd  be  somebody  better  worth  having  than 
Elsie's  lover  coming  after  you  some  day?  And 
I'm  as  glad  as  can  be  that  my  girl's  going  to  be 
married  the  first  of  all — before  Louise's  girls, 
or  Elsie's  either!" 

"I  can't  see  that  that  makes  the  least  differ- 
ence, mother,"  Molly  said,  laughing  for  very 
gladness.  "  But  oh  what  a  good  and  kind  man 
he  is!  and  what  a  lovely  home  we  are  to  have! 
for,  mother,  he  says  you  are  to  live  with  us  al-, 
ways  if  you  like." 

"  Now  that  is  nice!"  Enna  said,  much  gratL 
fied.  "  And  is  it  as  pretty  as  Viamede?" 

"  It  is  almost  if  not  quite  as  beautiful  as  Via- 
mede, though  not  quite  so  large;  both  house 
and  grounds  are,  I  believe,  a  little  smaller." 

"  How  soon  are  you  going  to  be  married?" 

"  I  don't  know  just  when,  mother;  the  day 
has  not  been  set." 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  soon,  just  as  soon  as  we 
can  get  you  ready." 

This  was  a  little  private  chat  in  Molly's  room 


186  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

after  Mr.  Embury  had  gone  away.  She  had 
asked  to  have  her  chair  wheeled  in  there,  and 
to  be  left  alone  with  her  mother  while  she  told 
her  the  news  of  her  engagement. 

"  I  must  consult  with  uncle  and  aunt  and 
Cousin  Elsie  about  that,"  she  said  in  answer  to 
her  mother's  last  remark.  ""Will  you  please 
open  the  door  now  and  ask  them  to  come  ill? 
I  don't  care  if  the  rest  come  too." 

"  Well,  Molly,  when,  where,  and  by  whom  is 
the  knot  to  be  tied?"  asked  Mr.  Dinsmore 
playfully,  as  he  stood  by  her  side  looking  down 
with  a  kindly  smile  at  her  blushing,  happy 
face. 

tf  0  uncle,  so  many  questions  at  once!" 

"  Well,  one  at  a  time  then:    When?" 

"That  foolishly  impatient  man  wanted  me 
to  say  to-night,"  she  answered,  laughing,  and 
when  I  told  him  how  absurd  an  idea  that 
was,  he  insisted  that  a  week  was  quite  long 
enough  for  him  to  go  on  living  alone." 

"A  week!"  exclaimed  her  aunt.  "You 
surely  did  not  consent  to  that?" 

"  No,"  Aunt  Hose,  "  but  I  believe  I  half  con- 
sented to  try  to  make  my  preparations  in  two 
weeks.  I  doubt  if  we  can  quite  settle  that 
question  now." 

"  There  must  be  time  allowed  for  furnishing 
you  with  a  handsome  trousseau,  my  dear  child/' 
Elsie  said,  "  but  possibly  it  can  be  accomplished 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  187 

in  a  fortnight.  As  to  the  next  question — where? 
— you  surely  will  let  it  be  here,  in  my  house?" 

"  Gladly,  cousin,  if  pleasing  to  you,"  Molly 
answered  with  a  grateful,  loving  look.  "And 
Mr.  Keith  shall  officiate,  if  he  will.  Of  course 
it  must  be  a  very  quiet  affair;  I  should  prefer 
that  under  any  circumstances." 

"You  will  invite  Dick,  will  you  not?"  her 
uncle  asked  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Dick!  oh  the  dear  fellow!  I  ought  to  have 
him.  I  wonder  if  I  could  persuade  him  to 
leave  his  practice  long  enough  to  come.  Two 
weeks  would  give  him  time  to  get  here  if  I 
write  at  once." 

"  No  need,"  her  uncle  replied.  "  Providence 
permitting,  he  will  be  here  in  less  than  half 
that  time." 

Then  the  whole  story  came  out  in  answer  to 
Molly's  look  of  astonished  inquiry,  and  her  cup 
of  happiness  was  indeed  full  to  overflowing. 

"Where  did  you  drive,  Molly?"  asked  Isa. 
"  But  I  suppose  you  hardly  know;  you  could 
see  nothing  but — your  companion?" 

"  Ah,  Isa,  do  you  judge  of  me  by  yourself?" 
queried  Molly  gleefully.  "  By  the  way,  though, 
I  had  three  companions.  But  don't  I  know 
where  I  went?" 

Then  smiling,  laughing,  blushing,  rosy  and 
happy  as  they  had  never  seen  her  before,  she 
described  the  darling  baby  girls  and  the  beauti' 
ful  home. 


138  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOODS 

But  the  sweet  words  of  love  that  had  been  as 
music  to  her  ear  were  too  sacred  for  any  other. 

She  had  quite  a  large  and  certainly  very  at- 
tentive and  interested  audience,  the  whole  family 
having  gathered  in  the  room.  Enna  and  the 
young  girls  were  especially  delighted  with  tne 
tale  she  had  to  tell. 

"  It's  just  like  a  story — the  very  nicest  kind 
of  a  story!"  cried  Vi,  clapping  her  hands  in  an 
ecstasy  of  delight  when  Molly  came  to  that 
part  of  her  narrative  where  she  learned  that  she 
herself  was  to  be  the  mistress  of  the  lordly 
mansion  she  had  entered  as  a  stranger  visitor, 
with  all  its  wealth  of  luxury  and  beauty. 

The  next  two  or  three  weeks  were  full  of 
pleasant  bustle  and  excitement,  preparations 
for  the  wedding  being  pushed  forward  with  all 
possible  dispatch,  Mr.  Embury  pleading  his 
loneliness  and  that  he  wanted  Molly's  relatives 
and  friends  to  see  her  fairly  settled  in  her  new 
home  before  they  left  Viamede  for  the  North. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dinsmore,  with  Enna,  Isa,  the 
younger  Elsie  and  Violet,  took  a  trip  to  New 
Orleans  and  spent  several  days  in  shopping 
there,  laying  in  great  store  of  rich,  costly  and 
beautiful  things  for  Molly's  adornment. 

Mr.  Embury,  too,  paid  a  flying  visit  to  the 
city,  which  resulted  in  an  elegant  set  of  jewels 
for  his  bride  and  some  new  articles  of  furniture 
for  her  apartments. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  189 

Dick  arrived  at  about  the  expected  time  and 
was  joyfully  welcomed.  His  surprise  and  de- 
light in  view  of  Molly's  prospects  were  quite 
sufficient  4o  satisfy  her,  and  so  greatly  was  he 
pleased  with  the  country  that  in  a  few  days  he 
announced  his  purpose  to  remain. 

Cyril  had  received  a  unanimous  call  from  the 
two  churches,  and  after  mature  deliberation  ac- 
cepted it,  upon  which  Elsie  doubled  the  salary 
she  had  formerly  paid,  and  told  him  playfully 
and  in  private  that  if  he  would  get  a  wife  whom 
she  could  approve  she  would  repair,  enlarge, 
and  refurnish  the  cottage. 

"  You  are  extremely  kind  and  generous 
cousin,"  he  stammered,  coloring  deeply,  "  and 
I — I  would  be  only  too  glad  to  follow  out  your 
suggestion. " 

"Well,"  she  returned  in  the  same  playful 
tone,  "what  is  there  to  hinder?" 

"  The  only  woman  I  could  fancy,  could  love, 
is  so  beautiful,  fascinating,  accomplished,  so  al- 
together attractive  in  every  way,  that — I  fear  she 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  content  herself  with 
a  poor  minister." 

"  I  cannot  say  how  that  is,"  Elsie  answered 
with  a  smile,  "but  judging  by  myself  I  should 
think  she  would  give  her  hand  wherever  her 
heart  has  gone  ;  and  if  I  were  a  man  I  should 
not  despair  until  I  had  asked  and  been  refused. 
And,  Cyril,  though  not  rich  in  this  world's 


190  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

goods,  I  consider  you  a  fit  match  for  the  highest 
— you  who  are  a  son  of  the  King." 

"  That  sonship  is  more  to  me  than  all  the 
world  has  to  give,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  with 
glistening  eyes,  "  but  to  others  it  may  seem  of 
little  worth." 

"Not  to  any  one  who  is  of  the  right  spirit  to 
he  truly  an  helpmeet  to  you.  I  think  I  know 
where  your  affections  are  set,  my  dear  cousin, 
and  that  by  her  the  true  riches  are  esteemed  as 
by  you  and  me." 

He  thanked  her  warmly  by  word  and  look  for 
her  kind  sympathy  and  encouragement,  and 
there  the  interview  ended. 

But  that  night,  when  Elsie  was  about  retiring, 
Isa  came  to  her,  all  smiles,  tears  and  blushes,  to 
tell  the  story  of  love  given  and  returned.  She 
and  Cyril  had  spent  the  evening  wandering 
about  the  grounds  alone  together  in  the  moon- 
light, and  he  had  wooed  and  won  his  heart's 
choice. 

"Dear  Isa,  I  am  very,  very  glad  for  you  and 
for  Cyril,"  Elsie  whispered,  clasping  her  cousin 
close,  and  kissing  again  vnd  again  the  blushing 
cheek.  "  I  cannot  wish  anything  better  for 
you  than  that  you  may  be  as  happy  in  your  wed- 
ded life  as  my  dear  husband  and  I  were." 

"Nor  could  I  ask  a  better  wish,"  Isa  returned 
with  emotion;  "but  ah!  I  fear  I  can  never  be 
the  perfect  wife  you  were!  And,  cousin,  I  can 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  191 

hardly  hope  for  mamma's  approval  of  my 
choice." 

"  Do  not  trouble  about  that  now;  I  think  we 
shall  find  means  to  win  her  consent." 

"  I  think  grandpa  and  uncle  are  sure  to  ap- 
prove. " 

"  Yes;  and  they  will  be  powerful  advocates 
with  Aunt  Louise;  so  I  think  you  need  not  hesi- 
tate to  be  as  happy  as  you  can,"  Elsie  answered 
with  a  smile.  "  Do  you  wish  the  matter  kept 
secret?" 

"  Mr.  Keith  is  with  grandpa  and  uncle  now," 
Isa  said,  blushing,  "and  I  don't  care  how  soon 
Aunt  Rose  and  the  girls  and  Dick  know  it;  but 
if  you  please,  the  rest  may  wait  until  mamma  is 
heard  from." 

Molly  was  delighted,  though  not  greatly  as- 
tonished, when  Isa  told  her  the  next  morn- 
ing. 

"  How  nice  that  we  shall  be  near  neighbors," 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  wish  you  would  just  decide 
to  make  it  a  double  wedding." 

"Thank  you,"  laughed  Isa;  "do  you  forget 
that  it  is  now  just  one  week  from  your  appoint- 
ed day?  or  do  you  think  my  trousseau  could  be 
gotten  up  in  a  week,  though  it  takes  three  for 
yours?" 

"I  really  didn't  stop  to  think,"  Molly  ac- 
knowledged with  a  happy  laugh;  "  but,  Isa,  you 
are  so  beautiful  that  you  need  no  finery  to  add 


192  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

to  your  attractions,  while  my  plainness  requires 
a  good  deal." 

"Molly,"  Isa  said,  standing  before  her  and 
gazing  fixedly  and  admiringly  into  the  glad, 
blooming  face,  "I  think  you  have  neglected 
your  mirror  of  late  or  you  wouldn't  talk  so." 

A  great  surprise  came  to  Molly  on  the  morn- 
ing of  her  wedding  day.  Her  cousin  Elsie  gave 
her  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  Mr.  Embury  set- 
tled fifty  thousand  upon  her,  beside  presenting 
her  with  the  jewels  he  had  purchased — a  set  of 
diamonds  and  pearls. 

Also  she  received  many  handsome  presents 
from  uncle,  aunt,  brother  and  cousins,  and  from 
Mr.  Embury's  children. 

He  had  sent  for  his  two  boys,  fine  manly  fellows 
of  ten  and  twelve,  to  be  present  at  the  marriage, 
which  was  to  take  place  in  the  evening,  and  had 
brought  them  that  morning  for  a  short  call 
upon  his  chosen  bride. 

She  and  they  seemed  mutually  pleased,  and 
Molly,  who  had  been  somewhat  apprehensive 
lest  they  should  dislike  the  match,  felt  as  if  the 
last  stone  were  removed  from  her  path. 

She  gratified  Mr.  Embury  greatly  by  a  re- 
quest that  the  baby  girls  and  all  the  servants  from 
Magnolia  Hall  might  be  present,  and  that  he 
would  let  Louis,  his  eldest  son.  stand  up  with 
them  as  third  groomsman,  Dick  and  Harold 
Travilla  being  first  and  second. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  193 

Isa,  the  younger  Elsie  and  Violet  were  the 
bridesmaids,  all  wearing  white  for  the  occasion. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  wedding  indeed,  no  one  at 
all  present  but  the  members  of  the  two  families, 
servants  included — these  last  grouping  them- 
selves about  the  open  door  into  the  hall. 

Molly  sat  in  her  chair  looking  very  sweet  and 
pretty  in  white  silk,  point  lace,  and  abundance 
of  orange  blossoms  freshly  gathered  from  the 
trees  on  the  lawn. 

The  bridesmaids  looked  very  lovely  also; 
groom  and  groomsmen  handsome  and  happy. 

Mr.  Keith  made  the  ceremony  short  but  sol- 
emn and  impressive.  The  usual  greetings  and 
congratulations  followed ;  Elsie's  to  the  bride  a 
whispered  hope,  accompanied  with  tears  and 
smiles,  that  every  year  might  find  herself  and 
husband  nearer  and  dearer  to  each  other. 

An  elegant  banquet  succeeded,  and  shortly 
after  the  happy  bridegroom  bore  his  new-made 
wife  away  to  her  future  home. 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

"  But  happy  they !  the  happiest  of  their  kind! 
Whom  gentler  stars  unite,  and  in  one  fate 
Their  hearts,  their  fortunes,  and  their  beings  blend 
.    .    ,    .    .    for  naught  but  love 
Can  answer  love,  and  render  bliss  secure." 

— Thomson's  Seasons. 

As  no  invitations  to  the  wedding  were  to  be 
sent  to  relatives  at  a  distance,  it  was  thought 
quite  as  well  not  to  inform  them  of  Molly's  en- 
gagement until  after  the  marriage  had  taken 
place;  beside,  as  the  preparations  were  so  hur- 
ried, no  one  had  much  time  for  correspondence. 

Isadore  Conly  did  not  once  during  the  three 
weeks  write  to  Eoselands,  excusing  herself  on 
the  double  plea  that  her  last  letter  remained  un- 
answered, and  that  she  was  particularly  busy 
about  the  trousseau. 

She  found  little  time  to  spare  from  that 
which  was  not  taken  up  in  walking  or  riding 
with  Cyril. 

He  proposed  writing  to  her  mother  immedi- 
ately after  declaring  his  love;  but  she  begged 
him  to  delay  a  little  till  her  grandfather  and  un- 
cle should  have  time  to  consider  how  to  bring 
their  influence  to  bear  upon  Mrs.  Conly  in  the 
way  most  likely  to  win  her  approval  of  his  suit. 

The  day  after  the  wedding  saw  a  number  of 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  195 

letters  directed  to  Roselands,  dropped  into  the 
Viamede  mail-bag,  and  a  few  days  later  they 
reached  their  destination. 

The  family — consisting  of  Mrs.  Conly,  Cal- 
houn,  Arthur,  Virginia,  Walter  (who  was  at 
home  for  a  few  days  on  a  furlough,  being  now 
a  lieutenant  in  the  U.  S.  Army),  and  several 
younger  ones — were  at  breakfast  when  Pomp 
came  in  with  the  mail-bag. 

Calhoun  opened  it  and  distributed  the  con- 
tents. 

"  Letters  from  Viamede  at  last,"  he  remarked; 
"three  for  you,  mother,  from  grandpa,  uncle 
and — somebody  else  ;  one  for  Walter  (Diok's 
handwriting  !  I  didn't  know  he  was  there)  and 
one  for  Virginia." 

"From  Isa,"  Virginia  said  as  she  glanced  at 
the  superscription ;  then  tearing  open  the  en-» 
velope,  and  glancing  down  the  first  page,  "  Molly 
is  married  !  to  a  rich  planter,  too  1  Will  won- 
ders never  cease  !" 

A  simultaneous  exclamation  of  surprise  from 
all  present. 

"Nonsense,  Isa's  hoaxing  you,"  said  Walter, 
stirring  his  coffee.  ' *  Here,  let  me  see  the  letter." 

"No.     Open  your  own." 

"  That's  not  in  Isa's  line,"  remarked  Arthur, 
"  but  really  it  is  very  astonishing  news.  What 
does  Dick  say,  Wai  ?  He  went  down  there  to 
attend  the  wedding,  I  presume  ?" 


196  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Xo  ;  didn't  know  a  word  about  it  till  he 
got  there,"  Walter  said,  giving  a  hasry  perusal 
to  the  not  very  lengthy  epistle;  "  went  to  settle; 
good  opening  for  a  doctor  ;  splendid  country, 
everything  lovely,  likes  brother-in-law  immense- 
ly, is  overjoyed  at  Molly's  good  luck,  says  she's 
as  happy  as  a  queen." 

"  Which  may  mean  much  or  little,"  remarked 
Conly. 

His  mother  cleared  her  throat  emphatically, 
and  all  eyes  turned  to  her.  She  held  an  open 
letter  in  her  hand,  and  her  face  looked  flushed 
and  angry. 

"  Isa,  too,  it  seems,  has  lost  her  heart,"  she 
said  in  a  bitter,  sarcastic  tone  ;  "  and  with  her 
usual  good  sense,  has  bestowed  it  upon  a  poor 
clergyman.  Doubtless*  he  has  heard  of  her 
Aunt  Delaford's  intentions — Elsie  perhaps  has 
given  him  the  hint,  he  being  a  relative  of  hers 
— and  thinks  he  is  securing  a  fortune.  But  if 
Isa  throws  herself  away  in  such  fashion,  Sister 
Delaford  may  change  her  mind." 

Calhoun  and  Arthur  both  repelled  with 
warmth  the  insinuation  against  Elsie  ;  the  latter 
adding  that  he  thought  Isa's  personal  charms 
we^e  quite  sufficient  of  themselves  to  captivate 
a  man  who  was  not  in  pursuit  of  wealth. 

"And  Isa,"  remarked  Calhoun,  "is  so  un- 
worldly that  wealth  would  be  a  matter  of  small 
consideration  to  her  where  her  heart  was  con- 
cerned." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  197 

"A  fact  that  should  make  her  friends  the 
more  careful  how  they  encourage  her  in  taking 
a  poor  man,"  said  the  mother  ;  "  but  my  father 
and  brother  are  both  strongly  in  favor  of  this 
adventurer's  suit." 

"  Adventurer,  mother  !  I  thought  you  said 
he  was  a  clergyman  !" 

"  Well,  Calhoun,  I  don't  see  any  contradiction 
there.  But  his  name  is  Keith,  and  that  ex- 
plains it  all,  for  my  father  was  always  very 
partial  to  those  relatives  of  his  first  wife. 
Horace,  too,  of  course." 

"  But  as  Isa  is  a  good  deal  more  nearly  re- 
lated to  them,  they  are  very  fond  of  her,  and, 
men  not  easily  deceived  or  taken  in,  I  think  we 
may  safely  trust  to  their  judgment.  You  won't 
oppose  what  they  so  higiily  approve,  mother  ?" 

"I  don't  know  ;  must  take  time  to  think  it 
over.  Do  you  and  Arthur  come  with  me  to  the 
library,"  she  said,  rising  with  the  letter  in  her 
hand.  "I  see  you  have  both  finished  your 
breakfast," 

They  rose  instantly,  and  followed  her  from, 
the  room,  Walter  looking  after  them  and  mutter- 
ing discontentedly,  "  I  think  mother  might 
take  me  into  her  counsels,  too."  j 

"You  are  too  young  and  foolish,"  said 
Virginia. 

"  The  first  objection  doesn't  lie  against  you, 
though  the  second  may,"  he  retorted.  "  You'd 


198  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

better  look  to  your  laurels.  Isa  and  Molly  are 
both  well  ahead  of  you." 

"  What  of  that  ?"  she  said,  reddening  with 
vexation.  "Isa's  two  years  older  than  I,  and 
taking  a  poor  minister  whom.  I  wouldn't  look 
at." 

"  Sour  grapes,"  suggested  her  brother,  teas- 
ingly.  "  And  Molly's  not  a  year  older  than  you, 
and  has  married  rich." 

"  A  second-hand  husband  !"  sneered  Virginia; 
at  which  Walter  laughed  uproariously. 

"  0  Virgie,  Virgie,  those  grapes  are  terribly 
sour !"  he  said.  "  But  do  let  us  hear  what 
Isa  has  to  say  about  it." 

"I  haven't  finished  the  letter;  but  there,  take 
it ;  what  do  I  care  about  her  fine  dresses  and 
presents,  and  the  splendors  of  Magnolia  Hall?" 

"Well,"  he  cried  presently,  "Cousin  Elsie 
did  the  thing  handsomely  !  and  he's  a  splendid 
fellow,  if  he  is  second-hand.  No  wonder  Dick's 
pleased.  I  only  wish  my  sisters  might  all  do 
as  well." 

In  the  library  Calhoun  was  saying,  as  he  laid 
down  his  uncle's  letter,  which  he  had  just 
read  aloud,  "  Cousin  Elsie  is  certainly  the  most 
generous  of  women  !  Mother,  you  could  not 
have  read  this  when  you  uttered  that  insinu- 
ation against  her  a  few  moments  since  ?" 

Mrs.  Conly  colored  violently  under  her  son's 
searching  gaze. 


ELSIE'S  WIVOWHOOD.  199 

"Twenty-five  thousand  is  a  mere  trifle  to 
her,"  she  said,  bridling,  "and  you  perceive  she 
promises  Isa  that  dower  in  the  event  of  her 
marrying  that  poor  relation  of  her  own." 

"It  is  extremely  generous,  nevertheless  !"  ex- 
claimed both  her  sons  in  a  breath. 

"  And  I  do  not  think  it  by  any  means  a  bad 
match  for  Isa,"  Arthur  went  on — "  a  good 
man,  of  fine  talent,  receiving  a  very  comfort- 
able salary,  a  lovely  home  rent  free,  very  little 
-expense  except  for  clothing,  seeing  they  are 
— as  uncle  says — to  have  all  the  fruit,  vegetables, 
nearly  their  whole  living,  in  fact,  from  the 
Viamede  fields  and  orchards  ;  use  of  carriages 
and  horses  too,  whenever  they  like." 

"  No,  it  isn't  so  bad,"  their  mother  acknowl- 
edged, "and  if  she  gets  her  Aunt  Delaford's 
money,  she  will  really  be  very  far  from  poor. 
But  I  dislike  the  thought  of  having  her,  with 
her  beauty  and  talents,  buried,  as  one  may  say, 
in  that  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  world." 

"  But  she  chooses  for  herself,  and  ought  to  be 
the  best  judge  of  what  is  for  her  own  happiness," 
Calhoun  said.  "  So  you  will  consent,  mother?" 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  of  course  !  But  I'll  take  no 
blame  from  your  Aunt  Delaford  ;  nor  from  Isa 
either,  if  ever  she  sees  cause  to  repent." 

So  a  letter  was  sent  that  made  glad  the  hearts 
of  the  lovers,  spite  of  some  ungraciousness  of 
tone. 


200  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Isa's  letter,  giving,  as  it  did,  a  minute  de- 
scription of  the  trousseau,  the  wedding,  Magno- 
lia Hall,  Mr.  Embury  and  his  children,  and 
telling  of  the  generous  settlements  upon  the 
bride  made  by  him  and  her  cousin  Elsie,  was 
read  and  re-read  by  Mrs.  Conly  and  Virginia 
with  great  interest,  which  was  yet  not  altogether 
pleasurable. 

They  were  glad  that  Molly  had  now  a  good 
home  of  her  own,  and  particularly  that  her 
mother  was  to  share  it — a  home  so  far  away  from 
Eoselands  that  Enna  was  not  likely  to  trouble 
them  any  more,  for  her  feebleness  of  intellect 
made  her  something  of  a  mortification  to  them 
of  late  years — yet  the  good  fortune  of  the  poor 
crippled  niece  and  cousin  was  too  great,  too 
strongly  in  contrast  with  their  own  rather  strait- 
ened circumstances,  not  to  arouse  some  feelings 
of  envy  and  jealousy  in  persons  of  their  haughty 
and  overbearing  disposition.  . 

"Dear  me,  I  wonder  why  some  people  have 
all  the  good  fortune  and  others  none !"  exclaimed 
Virginia  angrily.  "  I  should  say  fifty  thousand, 
was  quite  enough  fo^  Molly — especially  in  addi> 
tion  to  the  rich  husband  and  loads  of  handsome 
presents — and  that  ten  thousand  would  have 
been  much  better  bestowed  upon  you  or  me, 
mamma." 

"  You've  only  to  get  married,  sis,  and  probably 
she'll  do  the  same  handsome  thing  by  you,"  re- 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  201 

marked  Walter,  who  happened  to  be  within 
hearing. 

"Not  she!  I  never  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  one  of  her  favorites." 

"  Well,  Isa  can't  say  that,  for  she's  certainly 
doing  the  handsome  thing  by  her." 

"What?" 

"  So  mother  hasn't  told  you?  She's  promised 
that  the  day  Isa  marries  her  cousin,  Cyril  Keith, 
she'll  hand  over  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  to 
them." 

"  That  was  to  get  mamma's  consent.  Mamma, 
I  wouldn't  be  bought  if  I  were  you,"  Virginia 
said  scornfully. 

"You  wouldn't?"  laughed  Walter.  "I  tell 
you  you'd  sell  yourself  to-day  to  any  man  worth 
half  a  million,  or  even  something  less." 

"  Walter,  you  are  perfectly  insulting,"  cried 
Virginia,  her  eyes  flashing  and  her  cheek  flush- 
ing hotly.  "  I  wish  your  furlough  ended  to- 
day." 

"  Thank  you,  my  very  affectionate  sister,"  he 
said,  bowing  low  as  he  stood  before  her.  "  Why 
don't  you  wish  I'd  get  shot  in  the  next  fight 
with  the  Indians?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is," 
he  went  on  presently,  "if  I  were  one  of  Cousin 
Elsie's  children — Ed,  for  instance — I'd  enter  a 
pretty  strong  protest  against  these  wholesale 
acts  of  benevolence  toward  poor  relations." 

"She  can  afford  it,"  said  his  mother  loftily. 


302  ELSIE' 8  WIDOWHOOD. 

"and  I  must  say  I  should  have  a  much  higher 
appreciation  of  her  generosity  if  she  had  given 
Isa  the  money  without  any  conditions  attached." 

"But  Isa  wouldn't,  or  I  greatly  mistake." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  think  there  has 
been  a  conspiracy  between  them?"  demanded 
his  mother,  growing  very  red  and  angry. 

"  No,  no,  mother,  nothing  of  the  kind!  but 
Cousin  Elsie  is  a  woman  of  keen  observation, 
delicate  tact  and  great  discernment;  and  she 
had  Isa's  happiness  much  at  heart." 

"  Eeally,"  she  sneered,  "  I  have  but  just  made 
the  delightful  discovery  that  I  have  a  Solomon 
among  my  sons!" 

"  I  think  it  was  mean  not  to  invite  us  to  the 
wedding,"  said  Virginia. 

"  No;  that  was  right  enough,"  corrected  her 
mother;  "  being  in  deep  mourning  for  her  hus- 
band, she  could  not,  of  course,  give  Molly  any- 
thing but  the  quietest  sort  of  wedding." 

"  Well,  Isa  will  come  home  to  be  married?" 

"  Of  course;  and  I  shall  insist  upon  time  to 
have  everything  done  properly  and  without  any 
one  being  hurried  to  death." 

Immediately  upon  the  reception  of  Mrs. 
Conly's  letter  giving  consent  to  the  match  be- 
tween her  daughter  and  Cyril  Keith,  the  work 
of  adding  to,  repairing  and  improving  the  cot- 
tage destined  to  be  the  future  home  of  the  young 
couple  was  begun. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  203 

It  was  a  matter  of  great  interest,  not  to  Cyril 
and  Isa  alone,  but  to  the  whole  family  of  Dins- 
mores  and  Tra villas;  and  their  departure  from 
Viamede  was  delayed  some  weeks  that  Elsie  and 
frer  father  and  grandfather  might  oversee  and 
direct  the  workmen. 

It  was  going  to  be  a  really  commodious  and 
beautiful  residence  when  completed.  Elsie  de- 
termined that  it  should  be  prettily  furnished, 
too,  and  found  great  pleasure  in  planning  for 
the  comfort  and  enjoyment  of  these  cousins. 

And  Molly's  happiness  was  a  constant  delight 
to  her.  There  was  daily  intercourse  between 
Viamede  and  Magnolia  Hall,  Mr.  Embury  driv- 
ing Molly  over  almost  every  day  to  see  her  rela- 
tives, and  Dick  bringing  his  mother,  usually  on. 
horseback. 

Dick  was  making  his  home  with  his  sister  for 
the  present,  at  Mr.  Embury's  urgent  request, 
and  was  showing  himself  a  good  and  affectionate 
son  to  Enna. 

The  visits  were  returned,  too,  even  Elsie  go- 
ing over  frequently  for  a  short  call,  because  she 
saw  that  Molly  very  keenly  enjoyed  being  in  a 
position  to  extend  hospitality  to  all  her  friends, 
and  especially  herself,  as  one  to  whom  she  had 
long  been  indebted  for  a  happy  home. 

"  Oh,  cousin,"  Molly  said  to  her  one  day 
when  they  were  alone  together  in  her  beautiful 
boudoir,  "  I  am  so  happy!  my  husband  is  so 


204  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

kind,  so  affectionate!  I  cannot  understand  how 
it  is  that  he  is  BO  fond  and  even  proud  of  me — 
helpless  cripple  that  I  am.  But  I  have  learned 
,  to  be  thankful  even  for  that,"  she  added,  tears 
springing  to  her  eyes,  "because  he  says  it  was 
that  that  first  drew  his  attention  to  me;  and, 
strangely  enough,  his  pity  soon  turned  to  admi- 
ration and  love.  Oh  he  has  such  a  big,  gener- 
ous heart!" 

"  He  has  indeed!"  Elsie  said.  "  But,  Molly 
dear,  you  underrate  yourself.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  he  admires  and  is  proud  of  your  brave, 
cheerful  courage  under  your  hard  trial,  and  of 
your  talents  and  the  name  you  are  making  for 
yourself  as  both  a  translator  and  original  writer; 
I  hope  you  will  not  give  up  your  work  entirely 
now  that  there  is  no  pecuniary  necessity  for  it, 
for  I  think  it  is  bringing  a  blessing  to  yourself 
and  to  others." 

"  No,  oh  no;  I  shall  not  give  it  up  while  I  can 
believe  it  is  doing  something  for  the  Master's 
cause.  Louis  does  not  wish  me  to  while  I  enjoy 
it,  and  I  find  he  is  just  the  critic  I  need  to  help 
me  to  improve.  I  had  a  letter  from  Virgie 
yesterday,"  she  went  on  with  a  happy  laugh, 
"  congratulating  me  on  being  no  longer  com- 
pelled to  work,  yet  pitying  me  because  I  am  a 
stepmother." 

"  That  does  not  trouble  you?"  Elsie  said,  in« 
quiringly. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  205 

"Oh  no!  The  hoys,  Louis  and  Fred,  are  so 
much  like  their  father — seeming  to  love  me  all 
the  better  for  my  helplessness  (by  the  way, 
Louis,  my  husband,  says  it  is  a  positive  delight 
to  him  to  take  me  in  his  arms  and  lift  me  about) 
— and  the  baby  girls  are  as  lovely  and  dear  as  they 
can  be.  I  wouldn't  for  anything  part  with  one 
of  the  whole  four." 

"Dear  child!"  Elsie  said,  embracing  her  with 
full  heart  and  eyes,  "  I  am  so  glad,  so  happy  for 
you  that  it  is  so!  And  how  your  mother  and 
brother  seem  to  enjoy  your  good  fortunes!" 

"  Yes;  Dick  is  such  a  dear  fellow  !  and  mother 
— really  it  is  just  a  pleasure  to  see  how  she  de- 
lights in  it  all.  And  I  think  she  couldn't  be 
fonder  of  the  children  if  she  were  their  own 
grandmother." 

"  How  glad,  how  thankful  I  am  that  we  came 
to  Viamede  this  winter,"  Elsie  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silent  musing;  "  grandpa  has  so  entirely 
recovered  his  health  in  consequence,  a  favorable 
opening  has  been  found  for  Dick,  and  four  other 
people  are  made  happy  in  mutual  love  who 
might,  perhaps,  never  have  met  otherwise — all 
this,  beside  dear  Mrs.  Carrington  having  the 
melancholy  pleasure  of  nursing  her  poor  nephew 
through  his  last  illness.  How  true  is  the  prom- 
ise, '  In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge  him,  and  he 
shall  direct  thy  paths.'" 

"  You  take  a  very  unselfish  delight  in  other 


206  ESIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

people's  happiness,  cousin,"  Molly  remarked. 
"  And  Isa  is  very  happy." 

"  Yes,  and  Cyril  too,"  Elsie  answered  with  a 
smile.  "I  sometimes  think  my  Elsie  half  en- 
vies them — thinking  of  Lester  so  far  away.  But 
her  turn  will  come  too,  I  trust,  poor,  dear  child  I" 

May  was  well  advanced,  the  weather  already 
very  warm  in  the  Teche  country  when  at  last 
our  friends  set  out  upon  their  return  to  their 
more  northern  homes. 

Everything  there  was  looking  very  lovely  on 
their  arrival.  Friends,  kindred  and  servants 
rejoiced  over  their  return,  all  in  good  health. 

Elsie  and  her  children  took  up  again  the  old, 
quiet  life  at  Ion,  missing  Molly  not  a  little,  and 
feeling  afresh,  for  a  time,  the  absence  of  one  far 
nearer  and  dearer. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dinsmore  spent  some  weeks 
with  their  other  children,  then  again  made  their 
home  at  Ion,  at  Elsie's  urgent  solicitation.  In 
the  loneliness  of  her  widowhood  she  knew  not 
how  to  do  without  her  father. 

In  order  to  secure  her  cousin  Elsie's  presence 
at  her  wedding,  Isa  insisted  upon  a  very  quiet 
one,  only  relatives  and  very  intimate  friends  to 
be  invited  to  witness  the  ceremony;  but  to  please 
her  mother  and  Virginia,  there  was  afterward  a 
brilliant  reception.  The  marriage  took  place 
the  last  of  June,  and  the  next  two  months  were 
spent  principally  among  Cyril's  relatives  at  the 
North, 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

**  TLe  sea :  the  sea '  the  open  sea  I 
TLe  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free  1" 

— Proctor. 

THE  summer  vacation  brought  Edward  Tra- 
villa  home  just  in  time  for  his  cousin  Isa's  wed- 
ding. He  had  grown  so  manly  and  so  like  his 
father  in  appearance  that  at  sight  of  him  his 
mother  was  much  overcome. 

His  first,  his  warmest,  tenderest  greeting  was 
for  her.  He  held  her  to  his  heart,  his  own  too 
full  for  speech,  while  she  wept  upon  his  shoul- 
der. 

But  only  for  a  moment;  lifting  her  head,  she 
gazed  long  and  searchingly  into  his  face,  then, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  Thank  God,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  that  I  can  believe  my  boy  has  come 
back  to  me  as  pure  and  innocent  as  he  went !" 

"  I  hope  so,  mother;  your  love,  your  teachings 
and  my  father's  have  been  my  safeguard  in  many 
an  hour  of  temptation,"  he  answered  with  emo- 
tion. 

"  Did  you  not  seek  help  from  above,  my  son?" 
she  asked  gently. 

"  Yes,  mother;  you  had  taught  me  to  do  so, 
and  I  knew  that  you,  too,  were  daily  seeking  it 
for  me." 


208  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

"Yes,  my  dear  boy;  I  think  there  was  scarce 
a  waking  hour  in  which  I  did  not  ask  a  blessing 
on  my  absent  son." 

The  mother  dried  her  tears;  grandparents, 
brothers  and  sisters  drew  near  and  embraced  the 
lad,  servants  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  Ion 
was  filled  with  rejoicing  as  never  before  since 
the  removal  of  its  master  and  head. 

Tongues  ran  nimbly  as  they  sat  about  the  tea- 
table  and  on  the  veranda  afterward;  so  much 
had  happened  to  the  young  collegian,  so  many 
changes  had  taken  place  in  the  family  connec- 
tion since  he  went  away,  that  there  was  a  great 
deal  to  tell  and  to  hear  on  both  sides. 

The  voices  were  blithe,  and  there  was  many  a 
silvery  peal  of  laughter  mingled  with  the  pleas- 
ant, cheery  talk. 

Isa's  and  Molly's  matches  were  discussed  in  a 
most  kindly  way,  for  Edward  was  quite  curious 
to  hear  all  about  them  and  the  preparations  for 
the  approaching  wedding. 

Cyril  had  arrived  earlier  in  the  day,  was  tak- 
ing tea  at  Koselands,  but  would  pass  the  night 
at  Ion,  which  Edward  was  glad  to  hear,  as  he 
wished  to  make  his  acquaintance. 

A  summer  at  the  sea-shore  had  been  decided 
upon  some  weeks  ago,  and  Edward,  to  his  great 
gratification,  had  been  empowered  to  select  a 
cottage  for  the  family  to  occupy  during  the  sea- 
son, his  Aunt  Adelaide  and  her  husband  assist- 
ing him  with  their  advice. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  209 

He  announced  with  much  satisfaction  that  he 
had  secured  one  that  he  thought  would  accom- 
modate them  well — several  guests  in  addition,  if 
mamma  cared  to  invite  any  of  her  friends — and 
please  every  one. 

"It  is  large,  convenient,  well — even  hand- 
somely furnished — and  but  a  few  yards  from  the 
shore,"  he  said.  "  The  country  is  pretty  about 
there,  too — pleasant  walks  and  drives  through 
green  lanes,  fields  and  woods." 

"But  where  is  it,  Edward?"  asked  Violet. 

"Not  far  from  Long  Branch;  and  there  are 
some  half-dozen  other  sea-side  places  within  easy 
driving  distance." 

There  were  exclamations  of  delight  and  impa- 
tience to  be  there  from  the  younger  ones,  while 
the  mother  covered  up  with  a  smile  and  a  few 
words  of  commendation  to  Edward  the  pain  in 
her  heart  at  the  thought  that  her  best  beloved 
would  not  be  with  his  wife  and  children  beside 
the  sea  this  summer,  as  in  former  years. 

Her  father  and  Eose  were  thinking  of  that, 
too,  with  deep  sympathy  for  her. 

In  a  moment  the  same  thought  presented  it- 
self to  Edward  and  Violet,  and  they  drew  closer 
to  their  mother  with  loving,  caressing  looks  and 
words.  But  memories  of  Lester,  and  their 
walks  and  talks  together  when  last  she  was  at 
the  sea-shore,  were  filling  the  mind  of  the 
younger  Elsie  with  emotions,  half  of  pleasure, 


210  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

half  of  pain.  When  should  they  meet  again? 
Then  the  sudden  silence  that  had  fallen  upon 
the  group  about  her  mother,  and  a  glance  at 
that  loved  mother's  face,  reminded  her  also  of 
the  father  who  would  return  no  more,  and  whose 
companionship  had  been  so  dear  a  delight  to  her 
and  to  them  all. 

It  was  Kosie  who  broke  the  silence  at  length  • 
"  Mamma,  can  we  not  go  pretty  soon  ?" 

"Yes,  daughter,  in  about  a  week." 

The  journey  was  made  without  accident,  th* 
cottage  and  its  vicinity  found  to  be  all  that  Ed- 
ward had  represented. 

They  had  brought  some  of  their  own  servants 
with  them,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  hotel  cv 
boarding-house  life.  Elsie  had  always  loved  the 
quiet  and  seclusion  of  home,  and  clung  to  it  now, 
more  than  ever  ;  yet  for  her  children's  sake  she 
would  not  shut  out  society  entirely ;  both  Ed- 
ward and  his  sisters  were  free  to  invite  theit 
young  friends  to  partake  of  the  hospitalities  o  ( 
their  mother's  house,  but  without  noise  or  rev- 
elry, for  which  indeed,  they  themselves  had  no 
heart. 

For  a  while  the  society  of  his  mother  and  sis 
ters  was  quite  sufficient  for  Edward  and  his  fof 
them — they  were  all  so  strongly  attached  to  eacl 
other  and  he  had  been  so  long  away  from  honu? 
that  it  was  very  delightful  to  be  together  once 
more. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  2H 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dinsmore  were  at  that  time  visit- 
ing relatives  in  Philadelphia  and  its  vicinity,  and 
his  grandfather's  absence  gave  Edward  the  long 
coveted  opportunity  to  try  how  nearly  he  could 
fill  his  father's  place  as  his  mother's  earthly 
prop.  It  was  a  dear  delight  to  have  her  lean 
upon  his  arm,  rely  upon  his  strength,  consult 
him  about  business  or  family  matters. 

He  was  very  proud  and  fond  of  his  lovely  sifr- 
ters  ;  prouder  and  fonder  still  of  his  sweet  and 
beautiful  mother.  He  quite  longed  to  show  her 
to  all  his  college  friends,  yet  would  not  for  the 
world  have  her  grief  intruded  upon  by  them, 
with  their  thoughtless  gayety. 

During  these  weeks  that  they  were  entirely 
alone  she  gave  herself  up  wholly  to  her  children,- 
seeking  to  secure  to  them  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  innocent  enjoyment.  No  tasks  were 
set,  there  was  no  attempt  at  regular  employ- 
ment, and  almost  the  whole  day  was  spent  in 
the  open  air  ;  together  they  sported  in  the  surf, 
strolled  on  the  beach,  or  sat  in  the  sand  revelling 
in  the  delicious  sea  breeze  and  the  sight  of  the 
ever  restless,  ever  changing,  beautiful  ocean, with 
its  rolling,  tumbling,  dashing  waves.  They 
were  there  early  in  the  morning,  sometimes  in 
season  to  watch  the  sun  rise  out  of  the  water;  and 
often  again  when  the  silvery  moonlight  lent  its 
witchery  to  the  scene. 

But  there  came  a  day  when  the  rain  poured 


212  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

down  so  continuously  and  heavily  that  they 
were  glad  to  take  refuge  from  it  in  the  house. 

They  gathered  in  a  room  overlooking  the  sea, 
the  ladies  with  their  fancy  work,  Eosie  with  her 
doll,  while  Harold  and  Herbert  helped  little 
Walter  to  build  block  houses,  and  Edward  rea<* 
aloud  a  story  selected  by  the  mother,  as  enter- 
taining and  at  the  same  time  pure  and  whole- 
some. 

She  was  careful  in  choosing  their  mental  food; 
she  would  no  sooner  have  suffered  her  children's 
minds  to  be  poisoned  than  their  bodies. 

As  Edward  closed  the  book  upon  the  comple- 
tion of  the  story,  "Mamma, "said  the  younger 
Elsie,  "  do  you  quite  approve  of  all  the  teachings 
the  author  has  given  there?  or  perhaps  I  should 
rather  say  the  sentiments  she  has  expressed." 

"  Not  quite,  but  what  is  it  you  do  not  ap- 
prove ?"  the  mother  answered  with  an  affec- 
tionate and  pleased  look  at  the  earnest  face  of 
the  questioner.  "lam  glad  to  see  that  you  are 
not  ready  to  be  carried  about  with  every  wind 
of  doctrine." 

"  It  is  her  comment  upon  her  heroine's  effort 
to  escape  from  her  trouble  by  asking  help  from 
God.  She  speaks  as  if,  had  the  girl  been  older 
and  wiser,  she  would  have  known  that  God  had 
the  welfare  and  happiness  of  other  people  to 
consult  as  well  as  hers,  and  couldn't  be  expected 
to  sacrifice  them  for  her  sake." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  213 

"Well,  daughter?" 

"It  seems  to  me  to  show  a  very  low  estimate 
of  God's  power  and  wisdom.  Since  he  is  infinite 
in  both,  can  he  not  so  order  events  as  to  secure 
the  best  good  to  all  his  creatures?" 

"  Yes,  my  child,  I  am  sure  he  can,  and  we  need 
never  fear  that  he  is  not  able  and  willing  to  help 
his  people  in  every  time  of  trouble.  *  The  name  of 
the  Lord  is  as  trong  tower:  the  righteous  runneth 
into  it,  and  is  safe.'  "The  righteous  cry,  and 
the  Lord  heareth,  and  delivereth  them  out  of  all 
their  troubles.'  He  does  not  always  answer  just 
as  we  desire,  it  is  true,  but  often  in  a  better 
way.  for  we,  in  our  folly  and  short-sightedness, 
sometimes  ask  what  would  prove  in  the  end  a 
curse  instead  of  a  blessing." 

"Mamma,  how  happy  we  should  be  if  we 
had  perfect  faith  and  trust,"  said  Violet. 

"  Yes  ;  if  we  fully  believed  the  inspired  assur- 
ance, « We  know  that  all  things  work  together 
for  good  to  them  that  love  God,'  we  should  not 
fret  or  grieve  over  losses,  crosses  or  disappoint- 
ments. Strive  after  such  faith,  my  children, 
and  pray  constantly  for  it,  for  it  is  the  gift  of 
God." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  broken  only  by  Wal- 
ter's prattle,  the  plash  of  the  rain  and  the  mur- 
mur of  the  sea. 

Edward  seemed  in  deep  thought.  Taking  a 
low  seat  at  his  mother's  knee,  "Mamma,"  he 


214  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

said,  "  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  and  per* 
haps  this  is  as  good  a  time  as  any." 

"Well,  my  dear  boy,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Do  you  think,  mamma,  that  I  ought  to  go 
into  the  ministry  ?" 

"My  son,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  in  some 
surprise,  "that  is  not  a  question  to  be  decided 
in  a  moment,  or  without  asking  God's  guidance." 

"You  would  be  willing,  mother  ?" 

"  More  than  willing — glad  and  thankful — if  I 
saw  reason  to  believe  that  you  were  called  of  God 
to  that  work.  To  be  truly  an  embassador  of  Christ 
is,  in  my  esteem,  to  stand  higher  than  any  of 
earth's  potentates,  yet  if  your  talents  do  not  lie 
in  that  direction  I  would  not  have  you  there. 
It  is  every  man's  duty  to  serve  God  to  the  utmost 
of  his  ability,  but  all  are  not  called  to  the  min- 
istry; some  can  do  far  better  service  in  other 
walks  of  life,  and  I  should  prefer  to  have  a  eon 
of  mine  a  good  carpenter,  mason  or  shoemaker, 
rather  than  a  poor  preacher." 

"  You  do  not  mean  poor  in  purse,  mamma  ?" 
queried  Harold,  joining  the  little  group. 

"No;  a  poor  sermonizer — one  lacking  the 
requisite  talents,  diligence  or  piety  to  proclaim 
God's  truth  with  faithfulness  and  power." 

"  How  can  one  tell  to  what  work  he  is  called, 
mamma  ?"  Edward  asked,  with  an  anxious,  per- 
plexed look. 

"  By  watching  the  leadings  of  God's  proyi- 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  315 

dence  and  by  earnest  prayer  for  his  direction.  Al- 
so I  think  if  a  lad  has  a  decided  bias  for  any  one 
profession  or  employment  it  is  a  pretty  sure  in- 
dication that  that  is  what  he  is  called  to;  for  we 
can  almost  always  do  best  what  we  most  enjoy 
doing." 

"  Then  I  think  I  should  study  medicine,"  said 
Harold,  "for  I  should  very  greatly  prefer  that 
to  anything  else.  And  don't  you  think,  mamma, 
that  a  doctor  may  do  really  as  much  good  as  a 
minister?" 

"Quite  as  much  if  he  be  a  devoted,  earnest 
Christian,  ready  to  do  good  as  he  has  opportu- 
nity: therefore  I  entirely  approve  your  choice." 

"  Thank  you,  mamma.  So  I  consider  it  quite 
settled,"  Harold  returned  with  a  look  of  great 
satisfaction.  "Now,  Ed  and  Herbie,  what  will 
you  be?" 

"As  Herbert  never  likes  to  be  separated  from 
you,  I  presume  he  too  will  choose  medicine," 
the  mother  remarked,  with  a  smiling  glance  at 
her  third  son,  as  he  too  came  and  stood  at  her 
side. 

"I  don't  know,  mamma;  it  seems  to  me  doc- 
tors have  a  dreadfully  hard  life." 

"  Ah!  I  fancy  a  life  of  elegant  leisure  would 
suit  you  best,  my  laddie,"  laughed  his  eldest 
brother. 

But  the  mother's  look  was  grave  and  a  little 
Anxious. 


216  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Herbert  saw  it.  "  Don't  be  troubled  about 
me,  mamma  dear,"  he  said,  putting  his  arms 
round  her  neck  and  gazing  lovingly  into  her 
eyes.  "I  do  mean  to  fight  against  my  natural 
laziness.  But  do  you  think  I  ought  to  choose 
so  very  hard  a  life  as  Harold  means  to?" 

"Not  if  you  have  talent  for  something  useful 
which  would  better  suit  your  inclinations.  Can 
you  think  of  any  such  thing?" 

"  Couldn't  I  be  a  lawyer?" 

"  You  could  never  rise  to  eminence  in  that 
profession  without  a  great  deal  of  hard  work." 

"An  author  then?" 

"The  same  answer  will  fit  again, "his  mother 
returned  with  a  slight  smile.  "  Has  not  your 
Cousin  Molly  worked  very  hard  for  a  number  of 
years?" 

Herbert  drew  a  long,  deep  sigh,  then  bright- 
ening, "I  might  be  a  publisher,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  suppose  they  work  very  hard,  and  they 
can  have  all  the  new  books  to  read." 

"  Oh,  Herbie,"  said  Violet,  "  think  of  the 
great  number  of  letters  they  must  have  to  write, 
and  manuscripts  to  read,  beside  many  other 
things." 

"  No,  my  boy,  you  cannot  do  or  be  anything 
worth  while  without  work,  and  a  good  deal  of 
it,"  said  his  mother.  "  So  I  hope  you  will  make 
it  your  earnest,  constant  prayer  that  you  may 
have  grace  to  overcome  your  besetting  sin  of  in- 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  217 

dolence,  and  to  ( be  not  slothful  in  business ; 
fervent  in  spirit;  serving  the  Lord.  The  Bible 
bids  us,  '  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do, 
do  it  with  thy  might.  Whatsoever  ye  do,  do 
it  heartily,  as  to  the  Lord,  and  not  unto 
men."' 

"Edward,  you  have  not  told  us  yet  what  you 
wish  to  be,"  said  his  sister  Elsie. 

"  My  inclination,"  he  answered  in  grave,  ear- 
nest tones,  "  is  to  take  my  father's  place  in  every 
way  possible,  first  in  the  care  of  my  darling, 
precious  mother,"  taking  her  hand  and  lifting 
it  to  his  lips,  "after  that  in  cultivating  the  Ion 
plantation  and  making  myself  a  good,  upright, 
useful  church-member  and  citizen." 

"A  worthy  ambition,  my  boy,"  the  mother 
said  with  emotion;  "  my  strong  desire  is  that 
you  may  follow  as  closely  as  possible  in  the  foot- 
steps of  your  honored  father.  I  never  knew  a 
better  man,  in  the  pulpit  or  out  of  it.  His  was 
a  truly  Christian  manhood,  and,  like  his  Master, 
he  went  about  doing  good." 

"Then,  mother,  with  your  approval  my  choice 
is  made;  and  with  your  permission  I  shall  spend 
some  time  in  an  agricultural  college,  after  fin- 
ishing the  course  where  I  am." 

"You  shall  do  as  you  wish;  you  shall  have 
every  advantage  I  can  give  you.  My  other  boys 
also,  if  they  will  improve  them." 

"  Your  girls,  too,  mamma?"  asked  Rosie. 


218  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  mamma  answered,  bestowing 
a  smile  and  a  kiss  upon  the  young  questioner. 

At  that  moment  the  tea-bell  summoned  them 
to  their  evening  meal.  Edward  took  his  father's 
seat  at  the  table,  his  father's  place  in  asking  a 
blessing  upon  the  food. 

As  they  left  the.  table  they  perceived  that  the 
rain  had  ceased;  the  clouds  had  broken  away 
from  the  setting  sun,  and  its  red  light  streamed 
over  the  dark  waters  like  a  pathway  of  fire. 

They  were  all  gathered  on  the  porch,  watch- 
ing, as  usual,  the  changing  beauty  of  the  sea 
and  the  clouds,  when  a  young  man,  in  the  un- 
dress uniform  of  a  lieutenant  in  the  army,  open- 
ed their  gate,  and  came  with  a  brisk,  manly 
step  up  the  walk  leading  to  the  house. 

As  he  drew  near,  he  lifted  his  military  cap, 
bowed  low  to  the  ladies,  then,  stepping  upon 
the  porch,  handed  a  card  to  Mrs.  Travilla. 

"Donald  Keith," she  read  aloud,  and  holding 
out  her  hand  with  a  sweet,  welcoming  smile, 
"How  do  you  do,  cousin?"  she  said;  "I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you.  But  to  which  branch  do 
you  belong?" 

"lam  a  younger  brother  of  the  Eeverend 
Cyril  Keith,  lately  married  to  a  Miss  Conly," 
the  young  officer  answered,  as  he  took  the  offer- 
ed hand.  "  He  wrote  me  of  your  great  kind- 
ness to  him,  and  when  I  learned,  a  few  hours 
since,  who  were  the  occupants  of  this  cottage,  I 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  219 

felt  that  I  must  come  and  thank  you.  I  hope  I 
do  not  intrude,  cousin?" 

"  No,  indeed;  we  are  always  ready  to  welcome 
relatives.  Now  let  me  introduce  these  other 
cousins — my  boys  and  girls." 

The  young  man  spent  the  whole  evening  in 
the  company  of  these  new-found  relatives,  and 
went  away  highly  delighted  with  them  all. 

He  had  several  weeks'  furlough,  was  staying 
at  a  hotel  near  by,  and  promised  himself  great 
enjoyment  in  the  society  of  the  dwellers  in  the 
cottage. 

And  they  were  pleased  with  hiir. 

"  He  seems  a  very  nice,  clever  fellow,  moth- 
er," Edward  remarked. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "he  has  very  agreeable 
manners  and  talks  well;  and  knowing  that  he 
comes  of  a  godly  race,  I  hope  we  shall  find  him 
in  all  respects  a  suitable  companion  for  you  and 
your  sisters.  I  am  glad  of  his  coming  for  your 
sakes,  for  I  fear  you  may  have  felt  the  want  of 
young  society." 

"Oh,  no,  mamma,"  they  all  protested,  "we 
could  not  have  enjoyed  ourselves  better.  It  has 
been  so  nice  to  have  you  quite  to  ourselves. * 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  A  mother  is  a  mother  still, 
The  holiest  thing  alive," 

— Coleridge. 

THE  next  morning's  mail  brought  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Dinsmore,  announcing  his  speedy 
coming  with  his  wife,  father,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Edward  Allison,  and  several  of  their  children. 

"  There's  an  end  to  our  good  times  !"  sighed 
Violet. 

"  Shall  you  be  so  Yery  sorry  to  see  your 
grandpa  ?"  her  mother  asked  with  a  slight 
Bmile,  knowing  that  her  father  was  dearly  loved 
by  all  her  children,  and  by  none  more  than  by 
Violet  herself. 

"  Oh  no,  mamma;  nor  grandma,  nor  any  of 
them,"  was  the  quick  reply  ;  "  only  it  was  so 
nice  to  have  you  so  entirely  to  ourselves." 

"  Haven't  you  enjoyed  it  too,  mamma  ?" 
asked  several  voices,  while  every  face  turned 
eagerly  and  inquiringly  to  hers. 
(  "'Yes,  indeed,  my  darlings,"  she  said;  "  and 
yet  so  dearly  do  I  love  my  father  that  my  heart 
bounds  at  the  very  thought  that  he  will  ba  with 
me  again  in  a  few  hours," 

"Then,  mamma,  we  are  all  glad  for  you," 
Elsie  said  :  Violet  adding,  "and  for  ourselves, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  221 

too  ;  for  it  is  nice  to  have  grandpa  and  grandma 
with  us  ;  and  Aunt  Adelaide  also  :  she  is  always 
so  kind." 

**  Very  different  from  Aunt  Louise,"  remark 
ed  Edward.  € '  Who  would  ever  think  they  were 
sisters  !  Isa  and  Virginia  are  quite  as  unlike, 
too,  though  they  are  sisters.  I  hope  Aunt  Louise 
and  her  old-maid  daughter  won't  visit  us  this 
summer !" 

"  Edward  I"  his  mother  said  in  a  tone  of  re- 
proof. 

"  Excuse  me,  mother,"  he  said;  "  but  if  I  dis- 
like them,  it  is  because  they  have  always  treated 
you  so  badly." 

"  They  have  never  done  me  any  injury,  my 
son,"  she  answered,  with  gentle  gravity, '  and  I 
would  not  have  you  feel  unkindly  toward  them; 
much  less  am  I  willing  to  hear  you  speak  of 
them  as  you  did  just  now.  Virginia  is  not  an 
old  maid,  and  if  she  were  I  should  be  sorry  to 
have  you  apply  that  epithet  to  her." 

"She  is  several  years  older  than  I  am, 
mother,"  he  said,  blushing. 

"About  three  ;  and  you  are  only  a  boy." 

Edward  felt  this  as  the  most  cutting  rebuke 
his  gentle  mother  had  ever  administered  to 
him,  for  he  had  begun  to  think  of  himself  as 
a  man,  old  enough  and  strong  enough  to  be  his 
mother's  stay  and  support,  and  a  guide  to  his 
younger  brothers  and  sisters. 


g23  ELSIE' 3  WIDOWHOOD, 

But  sensible  that  he  had  deserved  the  reproof, 
he  bore  it  in  silence ;  yet  could  not  rest  until, 
seizing  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  her  without 
being  overheard  by  others,  "Dear  mamma," 
he  whispered,  looking  beseechingly  into  her 
eyes,  "will  you  not  forgive  my  thoughtless,  un- 
charitable speech  of  this  morning  ?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  boy,"  she  answered  with 
one  of  her  sweetest  smiles,  "  and  I  trust  you  will 
try  to  cultivate  more  kindly  feelings  toward 
your  grandpa's  sister  and  niece,  for  his  sake,  and 
because  it  is  a  Christian  duty." 

Mr.  Dinsniore  and  his  party  arrived  that  after- 
noon, and  the  next  day  were  followed  by  Mrs. 
Conly  and  Virginia. 

"  We  thought  we  would  give  you  a  surprise/ 
was  the  greeting  of  the  former;  "  the  heat  and 
threats  of  yellow  fever  drove  us  North  ^  scat- 
tered the  younger  children  pbout  among  other 
relatives,  leaving  several  at  your  house,  Adelaide, 
then  came  on  here  with  Virgie,  knowing  that 
Elsie  would  of  course  have  room  enough  for  us 
two." 

"  "We  will  find  room  for  you,  Aunt  Louise," 
Elsie  said  with  pleasant  cordiality,  and  trying 
hard  to  feel  rejoiced  at  their  coming. 

A  very  difficult  task,  as  they  never  were  at 
the  slightest  pains  to  make  themselves  agreeable, 
and  the  house  was  already  comfortably  filled. 

Edward  waited  only  to  shake  hands  hastily 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  223 

with  his  aunt  and  cousin,  then  slipped  away  for 
a  solitary  stroll  on  the  beach  while  he  should 
fight  down  his  feelings  of  disgust  and  irritation 
at  this  unwelcome  and  unwarrantable  invasion 
of  his  mother's  dwelling. 

He  had  asked  that  morning  if  he  might  invite 
his  college  chum,  Charlie  Perrine,  to  spend  a 
week  or  two  with  him,  and  had  received  a 
prompt  and  kind  permission  to  do  so.  It  seem- 
ed hard  enough  to  have  to  entertain,  instead, 
these  relatives,  between  whom  and  himself  there 
had  always  been  a  cordial  dislike ;  for  from 
early  childhood  he  had  perceived  and  strongly 
resented  the  envy,  jealousy  and  ill-will  indulged 
in  by  them  toward  his  mother. 

He  paced  hurriedly  to  and  fro  for  some  min- 
utes, striving,  with  but  indifferent  success,  to 
recover  his  equanimity,  then  stood  still,  gazing 
out  to  sea,  half  inclined  to  wish  himself  on 
board  an  outward-bound  vessel  in  the  offing. 

Presently  a  hand  took  quiet  possession  of  his 
arm,  and  turning  his  head  he  found  his  mother 
standing  by  his  side. 

"  I  am  grieved  to  see  my  boy's  face  so  cloud- 
ed," she  said  in  her  sweet  and  gentle  tones. 

"  Then,  mother,  it  shall  not  be  so  any  longer," 
he  answered,  resolutely  forcing  a  smile.  "I 
have  been  really  trying  to  feel  good-natured,  but 
it  is  not  easy  under  the  circumstances.  Not  to 
me,  I  mean.  I  wish  I  had  inherited  your  sweet 
disposition." 


224  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"Ah,  you  can  judge  only  from  outside  ap- 
pearances," she  said  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile; 
"  no  one  knows  what  a  battle  his  neighbor  may 
be  fighting  in  his  own  heart,  while  outwardly 
calm  and  serene.  "  I  know  you  are  disappoint- 
ed because  you  fear  you  must  give  up  inviting 
your  friend  for  the  present,  but  that  will  not 
be  necessary,  my  dear  boy.  We  can  still  manage 
to  make  room  for  him  by  a  little  crowding  which 
will  hurt  no  one.  My  room  is  so  large  that  I 
can  easily  take  Walter  and  all  your  sisters  in 
with  me,  and  if  necessary  we  will  pitch  a  tent 
for  the  servants." 

"Or  for  Charlie  and  me,  mother,"  he  ex- 
claimed in  delight;  "we  should  not  mind  it  in 
the  least;  indeed  it  would  be  good  fun  to  live  so 
for  a  while." 

At  this  moment  they  were  joined  by  Elsie  and 
Violet,  both  full  of  sympathy  for  Edward,  and 
anxious  to  consult  mamma  as  to  the  possibility 
of  still  making  room  for  the  comfortable  ac- 
commodation of  his  friend. 

They  listened  with  delight  to  her  proposed 
arrangement:  it  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to 
them  to  share  her  room,  if  it  would  not  incon- 
venience her,  and  she  assured  them  it  would  not. 

"I  was  afraid,"  said  Elsie,  "  that  Aunt  Ade- 
laide might  hurry  away  to  make  room  for  the 
others,  but  now  I  hope  she  will  not,  for  we  all 
enjoy  having  her  with  us." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  225 

"No,"  Mrs.  Travilla  said,  "we  will  keep  her 
as  long  as  we  can.  Ah,  here  come  my  father 
and  grandfather.  I  think  we  shall  astonish 
them  with  the  news  of  the  arrival." 

"  Cousin  Donald  is  with  them  too,"  remarked 
Elsie.  "Mamma,  I  think  Virginia  will  be 
rather  pleased  to  see  so  fine  looking  a  gentleman 
haunting  the  house." 

' '  Her  sister's  brother-in  -law, "  said  Vi.  "  Per- 
haps she  will  claim  him  as  more  nearly  related  to 
her  than  to  us." 

The  young  man  had  found  favor  with  both 
Mr.  Dinsmores,  and  the  three  were  just  return- 
ing from  a  pretty  long  tramp  together  which 
had  caused  them  to  miss  seeing  the  arrival  of 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Conly. 

The  news  seemed  to  give  more  surprise  than 
pleasure. 

"  It  was  very  thoughtless  in  Louise,"  the  old 
gentleman  said  with  some  vexation,  "but  it  is 
just  like  her.  I  think  we  must  find  Tooms  for 
them  at  one  of  the  hotels,  Elsie  ;  for  I  don't  see 
how  your  house  is  to  accommodate  us  all." 

"  I  do,  grandpa,"  was  her  smiling'  rejoinder, 
"  so  make  yourself  perfectly  easy  on  that  score." 

"  I  hope  our  excursion  is  not  to  be  interfered 
with,  cousin  ?"  Donald  said  inquiringly  :  for 
arrangements  had  been  made  for  a  long  drive 
that  afternoon,  taking  in  several  of  the  neigh- 
boring sea-side  resorts,  and  as  his  three  lady 


226  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

cousins  had  promised  to  be  of  the  party,  he  was 
loath  to  give  it  up. 

"No,"  she  said,  "Aunt  Adelaide  and  Aunt 
Louise  will  doubtless  be  well  pleased  to  be  left 
alone  together  for  a  few  hours,  after  a  separa« 
tion  of  several  years." 

"  Besides,  both  my  aunt  and  cousin  will  need 
a  long  nap  to  refresh  them  after  the  fatigue  of 
their  journey,"  remarked  Edward. 

The  young  people  exchanged  congratulatory 
glances.  They  were  all  eager  for  the  drive.  It 
was  just  the  day  for  it,  they  had  all  decided — 
the  roads  in  excellent  condition  after  the  late 
rain,  a  delicious  sea-breeze  blowing,  and  light 
fleecy  clouds  tempering  the  heat  of  the  July  sun. 

They  set  off  directly  after  an  early  dinner — 
all  the  Dinsmores  and  Travillas,  Mr.  Allison 
and  his  children  and  Mr.  Keith — in  two  covered 
carriages,  and  well  provided  with  waterproofs  for 
protection  against  a  possible  shower. 

They  were  a  pleasant,  congenial  party,  the 
older  people  cheerful  and  companionable,  the 
children  full  of  life  and  spirits. 

They  had  visited  Seagirt,  Spring  Lake  and 
Asbury  Park,  and  were  passing  through  Ocean 
Beach,  when  Edward,  catching  sight  of  a  young 
couple  sauntering  leisurely  along  on  the  side- 
walk:, uttered  an  exclamation,  "  Why,  there's 
Charlie  Perrine  !"  then  calling  to  the  driver  to 
stop,  he  sprang  out  and  hurried  toward  them. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  227 

"  His  college  chum — and  how  glad  they  are  to 
meet,"  Violet  said  as  the  two  were  seen  shaking 
hands  in  the  most  cordial  manner. 

Then  Perrine  introduced  Edward  to  his  com- 
panion, and  the  lad's  sisters  noticed  that  his  face 
lighted  up  with  pleased  surprise  as  he  grasped 
her  hand. 

'  <  Why,  I  know  her !"  cried  Donald.  "  Excuse 
me  one  moment,  ladies;"  and  he  too  sprang  out 
and  hastened  to  join  the  little  group  on  the  side- 
walk. 

He  and  the  lady  met  like  very  intimate  friends, 
greeting  each  other  as  "  Donald  "  and  "  Mary:" 
then  he  led  her  to  the  side  of  the  carriage  and 
introduced  her.  "  My  cousin  Mary  Keith, 
Uncle  Donald's  daughter  ;  our  cousins,  Misi 
Elsie  and  Miss  Violet  Travilla." 

The  girls  shook  hands  and  exchanged  glances 
of  mutual  interest  and  admiration.  Mary  had 
a  very  bright,  pleasant  face,  dark  eyes  and  hair, 
plenty  of  color,  lady-like  manners,  and  a  stylish 
figure  well  set  off  by  inexpensive  but  tasteful 
attire. 

The  other  carriage,  containing  the  older  peo- 
ple, had  now  come  up  and  halted  beside  the 
first. 

There  were  more  introductions,  then  Mary 
was  persuaded  to  take  Edward's  place  in  the 
carriage  with  her  young  cousins,  and  drive  with 
them  to  the  Colorado  House,  where  she  waa 


228  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

staying,  while  he  and  his  friend  followed  on 
foot. 

Here  the  whole  party  alighted,  seated  them- 
selves on  the  porch  and  chatted  together  for  a 
half  hour. 

"How  long  do  you  stay  here,  Cousin  Mary?" 
Mrs.  Travilla  asked. 

"  Another  week,  Cousin  Elsie  ;  I  have  en- 
gaged my  room  for  that  length  of  time:  and  I 
wish  you  would  let  one  of  your  girls  stay  with 
me,  or  both  if  they  will,  though  I'm  afraid  that 
would  crowd  them.  I  should  be  so  glad  if  yon 
would.  I  want  to  become  acquainted  with 
them  :  and  besides  I  have  just  lost  my  room- 
mate, and  don't  like  to  be  left  alone." 

After  a  little  consultation  between  the  elders 
of  the  party,  it  was  decided  that  Violet  should 
accept  the  invitation,  her  mother  promising  to 
send  her  a  trunk  in  the  morning,  and  Mary 
agreeing  to  return  the  visit  later  in  the  season, 
when  her  cousin's  cottage  would  have  parted 
with  some  of  its  present  occupants. 

Edward,  too,  would  remain  and  room  with 
Charlie  Perrine,  on  the  same  floor  with  the  girls, 
BO  that  Violet  would  feel  that  she  had  a  pro- 
tector. 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  a  pleasant  change  for  you, 
dear  ohild,"  the  mother  whispered  in  parting 
from  Violet,  "and  if  you  grow  tired  of  it,  you 
know  you  can  come  home  at  any  time.  And  Ed- 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  229 

ward,"  she  added,  turning  to  him,  "  I  trust  your 
sister  to  your  care,  particularly  in  bathing  :  don't 
let  her  go  in  without  you,  and  don't  either  of  you 
venture  far  out  or  into  any  dangerous  spot." 

"  We  will  be  very  careful,  mamma,"  they 
both  replied,  "so  do  not  feel  in  the  least 
uneasy.5' 

"  I  shall  owe  you  a  grudge  for  this."  Donald 
was  saying  in  a  rueful  aside  to  Mary. 

"  Why,  you  needn't,"  she  returned;  "you  can 
come  too,  if  you  wish,  unless  you  object  to  my 
society." 

"  That  wouldn't  mend  matters,"  he  answered, 
with  a  glance  at  the  younger  Elsie. 

"  Nonsense  !  I've  found  out  already  that  she's 
engaged.  Didn't  you  know  it  ?" 

"  Not  I.  Well,  it  takes  a  woman  to  find  out 
the  secrets  of  her  sex  !" 

"Then  you  own  that  a  woman  can  keep  a 
secret  ?"  was  her  laughing  rejoinder.  "  But  do 
tell  me,"  in  a  still  lower  tone,  "has  cousin  lost 
her  husband  lately  ?" 

"  Within  a  year,  and  they  were  devotedly  at- 
tached." 

"  Oh  poor  thing!    But  isn't  she  sweet  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed !  it  didn't  take  even  me  long 
to  find  that  out." 

The  carriages  rolled  away  amid  much  waving 
of  handkerchiefs  by  the  travellers  and  the  little 
party  left  behind;  then  Mary  carried  Vio- 


230  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

let  off  to  her  room  for  a  long  talk  before  it 
should  be  time  to  dress  for  tea,  while  the  lads 
strolled  away  together  along  the  beach,  their 
tongues  quite  as  busy  as  the  other  two  :  for 
there  were  various  college  matters  to  discuss, 
beside  plans  for  fishing,  boating,  riding,  and 
driving. 

And  Edward  must  sound  his  mother's  praises 
and  learn  whether  Charlie  did  not  think  fyer  the 
yery  loveliest  woman  he  ever  saw. 

"Yes,"  Charlie  said  with  a  sigh,  "you  are 
a  lucky  fellow,  Ned.  I  hardly  remember  my 
mother — was  only  five  years  old  when  she  died." 

"  Then  I  pity  you  with  all  my  heart  !"  Ed- 
ward exclaimed;  "for  there's  nothing  like  a 
mother  to  love  you  and  stand  by  you  through 
thick  and  thin." 

He  turned  his  head  away  to  hide  the  tears 
that  sprang  unbidden  to  his  eyes,  for  along  with 
his  pity  for  his  friend  came  a  sudden  recollec- 
tion of  that  dreadful  event  in  his  childhood 
when  by  an  act  of  disobedience  he  had  come 
very  near  killing  his  dearly  loved  father.  Ah, 
he  should  never  forget  his  agony  of  terror  and 
remorse,  his  fear  that  his  mother  could  never 
love  him  again,  or  the  tenderness  with  which 
she  had  embraced  him,  assuring  him  of  her  for- 
giveness and  continued  affection. 

Meantime  Donald  was  speaking  in  glowing 
terms,  of  Cousin  Mary.  "  One  of  the  best  girls 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  331 

in  the  world,"  he  pronounced  her — "  so  kind- 
hearted,  so  helpful  and  industrious.  Uncle's 
circumstances  are  moderate,"  he  said  ;  "Aunt's 
health  has  been  delicate  for  years,  and  Mary,  as 
the  eldest  of  eight  or  nine  children,  has  had  her 
hands  full.  I  am  very  glad  she  is  taking  a  rest 
now,  for  she  needs  it.  A  maiden  sister  of  her 
mother's  is  filling  her  place  for  a  few  weeks,  she 
told  me  :  else  she  could  not  have  been  spared 
from  home." 

"  You  make  me  glad  that  I  left  Violet  with 
her,"  Mrs.  Travilla  said,  with  a  look  of  pleased 
content. 

Edward  and  his  chum  returned  from  their 
walk,  made  themselves  neat,  and  were  waiting 
on  the  piazza  before  the  open  door,  as  Mary 
and  Violet  came  down  at  the  call  to  tea. 

The  dining-room  was  furnished  with  small 
tables  each  accommodating  eight  persons.  Our 
four  young  friends  found  seats  together.  The 
other  four  places  at  their  table  were  occupied  by 
two  couples — a  tall,  gaunt,  sour-visaged  elderly 
man  in  green  spectacles,  and  his  meek  little 
wife,  and  a  small,  thin,  invalid  old  gentleman, 
who  wore  a  look  of  patient  resignation,  and  his 
wife,  taller  than  himself  by  half  a  head. 

A  fine  head  of  beautiful  grey  hair  was  the  only 
attractive  thing  about  her,  her  features  were 
coarse  and  her  countenance  was  fretful.  She 
occupied  herself  in  filling  and  emptying  her 


232  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

plate  with,  astonishing  rapidity,  and  paid  little 
or  no  attention  to  her  husband,  who  was  so  crip- 
pled by  rheumatism  as  to  be  almost  helpless, 
having  entirely  lost  the  use  of  one  hand,  and  so 
nearly  that  of  his  lower  limbs  that  he  could  not 
walk  without  assistance. 

He  had  a  nurse,  a  young  German,  who  was 
with  him  constantly  day  and  night,  helped  him 
about  and  waited  upon  him,  but  in  a  very  awk- 
ward fashion.  The  man's  clumsiness  was,  how- 
ever, borne  with  patience  by  the  sufferer,  and 
did  not  seem  to  trouble  the  wife. 

She  eyed  Violet  curiously  between  her  im- 
mense mouthf  uls,  and  whispered  to  her  husband, 
loud  enough  for  the  child  to  hear,  "  Isn't  that 
a  pretty  girl,  William  ?  such  a  handsome  com- 
plexion !  I  reckon  she  paints." 

The  sudden  crimsoning  of  Yi's  cheek  contra- 
dicted that  suspicion  instantly,  and  the  woman 
corrected  herself.  "  No,  she  don't,  I  see.  I 
wonder  who  she  is  ?" 

"  Hush,  hush,  Maria !"  whispered  her  hus- 
band, "don't  you  see  she  hears  you  ?"  and  he 
gave  the  young  girl  such  a  fatherly  look,  gentle 
and  tender,  that  quick  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes: 
it  was  so  strong  a  reminder  of  one  whose  look 
of  parental  love  she  should  never  meet  again  on 
earth. 

People  at  other  tables  were  noticing  her  too^ 
remarking  upon  her  beauty  and  grace,  and  ask« 
ing  each  other  who  she  was. 


XXJBEFB  WIDOWHOOD.  233 

"  We'll  soon  find  out,  mamma;  don't  you  see 
tfhe  is  with  Miss  Keith  ?  and  she  will  be  sure  to 
introduce  her  to  us,"  said  a  nice  looking  girl 
about  Vi's  age,  addressing  a  sweet  faced  lady 
by  whose  side  she  sat. 

They  all  met  in  the  parlor  shortly  afterward, 
and  Vi,  Mrs.  Perkins,  her  daughter  Susie,  and 
her  son  Fred,  a  lad  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  were 
formally  presented  to  each  other. 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  into  a  crowd;  I  don't 
care  to  make  acquaintances,"  Vi  had  said,  half 
tearfully. 

Mary  understood  and  respected  the  feeling, 
but  answered,  "Yes,  dear  cousin,  I  know: 
but  do  let  me  introduce  Mrs.  Perkins  and  her 
children.  She  is  so  sweet  and  lovely,  a  real 
Christian  lady;  and  her  son  and  daughter  are 
very  nice.  We  have  been  together  a  great  deal, 
and  I  feel  as  if  they  were  old  friends." 

Vi  did  not  wonder  at  it  after  talking  a  little 
with  Mrs.  Perkins,  who  had  made  room  for  her 
on  the  sofa  by  her  side;  her  thought  was, 
"She  is  a  little  like  mamma  ;  not  quite  so  sweet 
nor  half  so  beautiful:  though  she  is  very 
pretty." 

Several  other  ladies  had  come  in  by  this  time, 
the  invalid  gentlemen's  wife  among  the  rest. 
"  Mrs.  Moses,"  Vi  heard  some  one  call  her. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  ?"  she  said,  drawing 
forward  an  arm  chair  and  seating  herself  di- 


234  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

rectly  in  front  of  Violet.  "  You're  a  new-comer, 
aint  you  ?" 

"I  came  this  afternoon,"  Vi  answered,  and 
turned  to  Mrs.  Perkins  with  a  remark  about  the 
changing  beauty  of  the  sea  and  clouds  ;  for  they 
were  near  an  open  window  that  gave  them  a 
view  of  old  ocean. 

"Where  are  you  from  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Moses. 

"The  South,  Madame." 

"  Ah  !  I  should  hardly  have  suspected  it : 
you've  such  a  lovely  complexion,  and  how  beau- 
tiful your  hair  is  !  like  spun  gold. 

The  German  servant-man  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"Mrs.  Moshes,  Herr  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Yes,  I  hear."  Turning  to  Vi  again,  "Well, 
you  must  have  had  a  long,  tiresome  journey;  and 
I  suppose  you  didn't  come  all  alone?" 

Vi  let  the  inquiry  pass  unnoticed,  but  the 
Ionian  went  on,  "I've  never  been  South,  but 
I'd  like  to  go;  perhaps  I  shall  next  winter.  It 
might  help  William's  rheumatism." 

"  Your  husband  wants  you,  Mrs.  Moses,"  re- 
marked Mary  Keith. 

"Oh  yes;  he's  always  wanting  me.  I'll  go 
presently." 

"  Cousin,"  said  Mary,  "  shall  we  take  a  stroll 
on  the  beach?" 

Violet  caught  at  the  suggestion  with  alacrity, 
and  they  went  at  once%  the  rest  of  their  party. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  235 

and  Mrs.  Perkins  and  hers,  accompanying 
them. 

"  That  poor  man  !"  sighed  Mary.  "  I  thought 
if  we  all  left  her,  perhaps  she  would  go  to  him." 

"Isn't  it  strange?"  said  Susie,  "he  seems  to 
love  her  dearly,  and  she  to  care  nothing  about 
him.  And  he  is  so  nice  and  good  and  patient, 
and  she  so  disagreeable." 

"  A  very  poor  sort  of  wife,  I  think,"  pursued 
Mary.  "  She  will  not  even  sleep  on  the  same 
floor  with  him,  for  fear  of  being  disturbed  when 
pain  keeps  him  awake.  Day  and  night  he  is 
left  to  the  care  of  that  awkward,  blundering 
German.  But  there  !  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
myself  for  talking  about  an  absent  neighbor." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  doing  any  harm,  Cousin 
Mary,"  said  Charlie,  "for  we  can  all  see  how 
utterly  selfish  the  woman  is." 

"What !  are  you  two  cousins?"  asked  Edward 
in  surprise. 

"First  cousins,  sir,"  returned  Charlie,  laugh- 
ing, "  sisters'  children.  Can't  you  and  I  claim 
kin,  seeing  she's  cousin  to  both  of  us?" 

A  sudden  dash  of  rain  prevented  Edward's 
/reply,  and  sent  them  all  scurrying  into  the 
house. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

'A  little  more  than  kin  and  a  little  less  than  kind.' 


OUR  little  party  had  scarcely  seated  themselves 
in  the  parlor,  where  a  number  of  the  guests  of 
the  house  were  already  gathered,  when  the  in- 
valid gentleman  was  assisted  in  by  his  servant 
and  took  possession  of  an  easy  chair  which  Mrs. 
Perkins  hastened  to  offer  him. 

He  thanked  her  courteously  as  he  sank  back 
in  it  with  a  slight  sigh  as  of  one  in  pain. 

Violet,  close  at  his  side,  regarded  him  with 
pitying  eyes.  "I  fear  you  suffer  a  great  deal, 
sir,"  she  said,  low  and  feelingly,  when  Mary, 
her  next  neighbor,  had  introduced  them. 

"Yes,  a  good  deal,  but  less  than  when  I 
came." 

"  Then  the  sea  air  is  doing  you  good,  I  hope. " 

"  I'm  thankful  to  say  I  think  it  is.  There's 
an  increase  of  pain  to-night,  but  that  is  always 
to  be  expected  in  rainy  weather." 

"  You  are  very  patient,  Mr.  Moses,"  Mary  re- 
marked. 

" And  why  shouldn't  I  be  patient?"  he  return- 
ed; "didn't  Christ  suffer  far  more  than  I  do?" 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  237 

"And  he  comforts  you  in  the  midst  of  it  all, 
does  he  not?"  asked  Mrs.  Perkins. 

"  He  does,  indeed,  ma'am." 

"  I  have  always  found  him  faithful  to  his 
promises,"  she  said. 

"  And  I,"  remarked  another  lady  sitting  near; 
"strength  has  always  been  given  me  according 
to  my  day,  in  the  past,  and  I  am  glad  to  leave 
the  future  with  him." 

"  Humph  !  it's  plain  to  be  seen  that  you  two 
don't  know  what  trouble  is, "put  in  Mrs.  Moses, 
glancing  fretfully  at  her  crippled  spouse;  whereat 
the  poor  man  burst  into  tears. 

Vi's  tender  heart  ached  for  him,  and  the  coun- 
tenances of  all  within  hearing  of  the  remark  ex- 
pressed sincere  pity  and  sympathy. 

A  child  began  drumming  on  the  piano,  and 
Mr.  Moses  sent  a  helpless,  half  despairing  glance 
in  that  direction  that  spoke  of  tortured  nerves. 

Vi  saw  it,  and,  as  he  turned  to  her  with, 
"Don't  you  play  and  sing,  my  dear?  You  look 
like  it,  and  I  should  be  much  gratified  to  hear 
you,"  she  rose  and  went  at  once  to  the  instru- 
ment, thinking  of  nothing  but  trying  to  bring 
help  and  comfort  to  the  poor  sufferer. 

"Will  you  let  me  play  a  little?"  she  said  to 
the  child,  with  look  and  tone  of  winning  sweet- 
ness, and  the  piano-stool  was  promptly  vacated. 

Seating  herself,  she  touched  a  few  chords,  and 
instantly  a  hush  fell  upon  the  room. 


238  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

She  played  a  short  prelude;  then,  in  a  voice 
full,  rich  and  sweet,  sang — 

"  '  O  Jesus!  Friend  unfailing, 

How  dear  art  thou  to  me! 
And  cares  or  fears  assailing, 

I  find  my  rest  in  thee ! 
Why  should  my  feet  grow  weary 

Of  this  my  pilgrim  way. 
Rough  though  the  path  and  dreary 

It  ends  in  perfect  day. 

" '  Naught,  naught  I  count  as  treasure, 

Compared,  O  Christ,  with  thee; 
Thy  sorrow  without  measure 

Earned  peace  and  joy  for  me. 
I  love  to  own,  Lord  Jesus, 

Thy  claims  o'er  me  and  mine, 
Bought  with  thy  blood  most  precious, 

"Whose  can  I  be  but  thine  1 

" '  For  every  tribulation, 

For  every  sore  distresa 
In  Christ  I've  full  salvation, 

Sure  help  and  quiet  rest. 
No  fear  of  foes  prevailing, 

I  triumph,  Lord,  in  thee. 
O  Jesus,  Friend  unfailing! 

How  dear  art  thou  to  me !'  "  * 

Edward  had  made  his  way  to  her  side  as  soon 
as  he  perceived  her  purpose. 

"You  have  left  out  half,"  he  whispered, 
leaning  over  her,  "and  the  words  are  all  so 
sweet." 

*  I  know  not  who  is  the  author  of  these  beautiful  lines. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  23«r 

ee  Yes,  I  know,  but  I  feared  it  was  too  long/' 

There  were  murmurs  of  admiration  as  lie  led 
her  back  to  her  seat.  "How  well  she  plays! 
such  an  exquisite  touch!"  "What  a  sweet 
voice!  highly  cultivated,  and  every  word  dis- 
tinct." "Yes,  and  what  a  beauty  she  is!" 

Some  of  these  remarks  reached  Violet's  ears 
and  deepened  the  color  on  her  cheek,  but  she 
forgot  them  all  in  the  delight  of  having  given 
pleasure  to  the  invalid.  He  thanked  her  with 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

The  words  are  very  sweet  and  comforting," 
he  said.  "  Are  they  your  own?" 

"Oh  no,  sir!"  she  answered.  "I  do  not 
know  whose  they  are,  but  I  have  found  comfort 
in  them,  and  hoped  that  you  might  also." 

Edward  and  Mary  were  conversing  in  low, 
earnest  tones. 

"I  am  delighted!"  Mary  said. 

"With  what?" 

"Words,  music,  voice,  everything." 

"The  music  is  her  own,  composed  expressly 
for  the  words,  which  she  found  in  a  religious 
newspaper." 

"  Indeed!  she  is  a  genius  then!  the  tune  is 
lovely." 

"  Yes,  she  is  thought  to  have  a  decided  genius 
for  both  music  and  painting;  I  must  show  you 
gome  of  her  pictures  when  you  pay  us  that 
promised  visit." 


240  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Mr.  Moses  presently  found  himself  in  too 
much  pain  to  remain  where  he  was,  and  sum- 
moning his  servant,  retired  to  his  own  room. 

His  wife,  paying  no  regard  to  a  wistful,  long- 
ing look  he  gave  her  as  he  moved  painfully 
away,  remained  where  she  was  and  entertained 
the  other  ladies  with  an  account  of  the  family 
pedigree. 

"We  are  lineal  descendants  of  Moses,  the 
Hebrew  Lawgiver,"  she  announced.  "  But 
don't  suppose  we  are  Jews,  for  we  are  not  at 
all. 

"  Belong  to  the  lost  ten  tribes,  I  suppose," 
remarked  Charles  Perrine  dryly. 

The  morning's  sun  shone  brightly  in  a  clear 
sky,  and  on  leaving  the  breakfast  table  our  lit- 
tle party  went  down  to  the  beach  and  sat  in  the 
sand,  watching  the  incoming  tide,  before  which 
they  were  now  and  then  obliged  to  retreat, 
sometimes  in  scrambling  haste  that  gave  occa- 
sion for  much  mirth  and  laughter. 

Mrs.  Moses  came  down  presently  and  joined 
them,  an  uninvited  and  not  over-welcome  com- 
panion, but  of  course  the  beach  was  as  free  to 
her  as  to  them. 

"How  is  your  husband  this  morning?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Perkins. 

"  Oh  about  as  usual." 

"  I  do  believe  it  would  do  him  good  to  sit  here 
awhile  with  us,  sunning  himself." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  241 

"  Too  damp. 

"No;  the  dampness  here  is  from  the  salt 
water,  and  will  harm  nobody." 

"  Where  is  he?"  asked  Fred,  getting  on  his 
feet. 

"On  the  porch  yonder,"  the  wife  answered, 
in  a  tone  of  indifference. 

"Come,  boys,  let's  go  and  bring  him!"  said 
Fred,  and  at  the  word  the  other  two  rose  with 
alacrity,  and  all  three  hurried  to  the  house. 

They  found  the  poor  old  gentleman  sitting 
alone,  save  for  the  presence  of  the  uncouth  ser- 
vant standing  in  silence  at  the  back  of  his  chair, 
and  watching  with  wistful,  longing  eyes  the 
merry  groups  moving  hither  and  thither,  to  and 
fro,  between  the  houses  and  the  ocean,  some 
going  down  to  bathe,  others  coming  dripping 
from  the  water,  some  sporting  among  the  waves, 
and  others  still,  like  our  own  party,  sunning 
themselves  on  the  beach. 

"  We  have  come  to  ask  you  to  join  us,  sir," 
Fred  said  in  respectful  but  hearty  tones.  ' '  Won't 
you  let  us  help  you  down  to  the  beach?  the 
ladies  are  anxious  to  have  you  there." 

The  poor  man's  face  lighted  up  with  pleased 
surprise,  then  clouded  slightly.  "  I  should  like 
to  go  indeed,"  he  said,  "if  I  could  do  so  with- 
out troubling  others;  but  that  is  impossible." 

"We  should  not  feel  it  any  trouble,  sir."  the 
lads  returned,  "  but  a  pleasure  rather,  if  you 
will  let  us  help  you  there. '!_-• 


24fc  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  I  ought  not  to  ask  it  of  you :  Jacob  here 
can  give  me  an  arm." 

"No,"  said  Edward,  "let  Jacob  take  thig 
opportunity  for  a  bath.,  and  we  will  fill  his  place 
in  waiting  upon  you." 

The  invalid  yielded,  and  found  himself  moved 
with  far  more  ease  and  comfort  than  he  had  be 
lieved  possible. 

The  ladies — his  wife,  perhaps,  excepted, 
greeted  him  with  smiles  and  pleasant  words  of 
welcome.  They  had  arranged  a  couch  with 
their  waterproofs  and  shawls,  far  enough  from 
the  water's  edge  to  be  secure  from  the  waves, 
and  here  the  lads  laid  him  down  with  gentle 
carefulness. 

Mrs.  Perkins  seated  herself  at  his  head  and 
shaded  his  face  from  the  siin  with  her  umbrella, 
while  the  others  grouped  themselves  about,  near 
enough  to  carry  on  a  somewhat  disjointed  con- 
versation in  spite  of  the  noise  of  the  waters. 

"I  think  a  sunbath  will  really  be  good  for 
you,  Mr.  Moses,"  said  Miss  Keith. 

"It's  worth  trying  anyhow,"  he  answered, 
with  a  patient  smile.  "  And  it's  a  real  treat  to 
do  so  in  such  pleasant  company.  But  don't  any 
of  you  lose  your  bath  for  me.  I've  seen  a  num- 
ber go  in,  and  I  suppose  this  is  about  the  best 
time." 

"Just  as  the  ladies  say,"  vas  the  gallant  re- 
joinder of  the  young  men. 


BLSIB  &   WIDOWHOOD.  24^ 

—  1  do  not  care  tc  bathe  to-day,"  Violet  said 
with  decision.  " '  he  rest  of  you  may  go,  and  I 
will  stay  and  take  are  of  M:.  Moses." 

"Well,  I'll  go  then.  He'll  not  be  wanting 
anything."  said  his  wife.  "Ain't  the  rest  oi 
you  coming,  ladies  and  gentlemen?" 

After  some  discussion,  all  went  but  Mrs.  Per- 
kins and  Violet,  and  they  were  left  alone  with 
the  invalid. 

Vi  had  conceived  a  great  pity  for  him,  great 
disgust  for  the  selfish,  unsympathizing  wife. 

"  How  different  from  mamma!"  she  said  to 
herself.  "She  never  would  have  wearied  of 
waiting  upon  papa  if  he  had  been  so  afflicted; 
she  would  have  wanted  to  be  beside  him,  com- 
forting him  every  moment.  And  how  sweetly 
it  would  have  been  done." 

t£  Little  lady,"  the  old  man  said,  with  a  long- 
ing look  into  the  sweet  girlish  face,  "will  you 
sing  me  that  song  again?  It  was  the  most  de- 
lightful, consoling  thing  I've  heard  for  many  a 
day." 

"Yes,  indeed,  sir;  I  would  do  anything  in 
my  power  to  help  you  to  forget  your  pain,"  she 
said,  coloring  with  pleasure. 

She  sang  the  whole  of  the  one  he  had  asked 
for,  then  perceiving  how  greatly  he  enjoyed  it, 
several  others  of  like  character. 

He  listened  intently,  sometimes  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  and  thanking  her  warmly  again  and 
again. 


344  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Finding  that  the  old  gentleman  felt  brighter  and 
more  free  from  pain  during  the  rest  of  the  day, 
ana  thought  he  had  received  -enefit  from  his  visit 
to  tne  beach,  the  lads  helped  him  there  again 
the  next  day. 

They  set  him  down,  then  wandered  away, 
.caving  him  in  the  care  of  the  same  group  of 
Jadies  who  had  gathered  round  him  the  day 
before. 

Each  one  was  anxious  to  do  something  for  his 
relief  or  entertainment,  and  he  seemed  both 
pleased  with  their  society  and  grateful  for  their 
attentions. 

Mrs.  Perkins  suggested  that  the  lame  hand 
might  be  benefited  by  burying  it  in  the  sand 
while  he  sat  there. 

"No  harm  in  trying  it,  anyhow,"  he  said. 
"Just  turn  me  round  a  little,  Maria,  if  you 
please." 

His  wife  complied  promptly  with  the  request, 
but  in  a  way  which  the  other  ladies  thought 
rough  and  unfeeling,  seizing  him  by  the  collar 
of  his  coat  and  jerking  him  round  to  the  desired 
position. 

But  he  made  no  complaint. 

"  I  think  it  does  ease  the  pain,"  he  said  after 
a  little.  "  I'm  only  sorry  I  can't  try  it  every  day 
for  a  while." 

"What  is  there  to  hinder  f"  asked  Mrs. 
Perkins. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD,  345 

"  Why,  we're  going  to-morrow,"  replied  Mrs* 
Moses,  shortly. 

"Oh,  why  not  stay  longer?  You  have  been 
here  but  a  week,  and  Mr.  Moses  has  improved 
quite  a  good  deal  in  that  time." 

"  Well,  he  can  stay  as  long  as  he  chooses,  but 
Pm  going  to  New  York  to-morrow  to  visit  my 
sister." 

The  ladies  urged  her  to  stay  for  her  poor  hus- 
band's sake,  but  she  was  not  to  be  persuaded, 
and  he  was  unwilling  to  remain  without  her. 

"  Take  some  sand  with  you,  then,  to  bury  his 
hand  in,  won't  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Perkins. 

"I  haven't  anything  to  carry  it  in,"  was  the 
ungracious  reply. 

"  Those  newspapers." 

"  I  want  to  read  them." 

"  Well,  if  we  find  something  to  put  it  in,  and 
get  it  all  ready  for  you,  will  you  take  it  in  your 
trunk  ?" 

"Yes,  I'll  do  that." 

41 1  have  a  good  sized  paper  box  which  will 
answer  the  purpose,  I  think,"  said  Mary  Keith. 
"I'll  get  it." 

She  hastened  to  the  house,  returned  again 
in  a  few  moments  with  the  box,  and  they  pro- 
ceeded to  fill  it,  sifting  the  sand  carefully 
through  their  fingers  to  remove  every  pebble. 

"You  are  taking  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for 
me,  ladies."  the  old  gentleman  remarked. 


246  ELSIE'S    WIDOWHOOD. 

«  No  trouble  at  all,  sir,"  said  Mary ,  "  it's  a 
real  pleasnre  to  do  anything  we  can  for  you: 
especially  remembering  the  Master's  words,  '  In- 
asmuch as  you  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these  my  brethren,  you  haye  done  it 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  How  happy  they 

Who,  from  the  toil  and  tumult  of  their  lives, 
Steal  to  look  down  where  nought  but  ocean  strives." 

— Byron* 

VIOLET  was  alone,  lying  on  the  bed,  resting 
after  her  bath,  not  asleep,  but  thinking  dreamily 
of  home  and  mother. 

Only  one  more  day  and  my  week  here  will  be 
up,"  she  was  saying  to  herself.  "I've  had  a 
delightful  time,  but  oh  I  want  to  see  mamma 
and  the  rest !" 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Mary  came  in 
with  a  face  all  smiles.  "  0  Vi,  I'm  so  glad  !" 
she  exclaimed,  seating  herself  on  the  side  of  the 
bed. 

"  What  about,  cousin  ?"  Violet  asked,  rous- 
ing herself,  and  with  a  keen  look  of  interest. 

"  I  have  just  had  the  offer  of  a  furnished  cot- 
tage for  two  or  three  weeks — to  keep  house  in, 
you  understand — and  I  can  invite  several  friends 
to  stay  with  me,  and  it  won't  cost  half  so  much 
as  boarding  here,  beside  being  great  fun," 
Mary  answered,  talking  very  fast  in  her  excite- 
ment and  delight.  "  Charlie  will  stay  with  me, 
I  think,  and  I  hope  you  and  Edward  will,  and  I 
have  two  girl  friends  at  home  whom  I  shall  in- 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

•vite.  One  is  an  invalid,  and  needs  the  change, 
'vh  so  badly;  but  though  they  are  not  exactly 
poor  people,  not  the  kind  one  would  dare  offer 
charity  to,  her  father  couldn't  afford  to  give  her 
even  a  week  at  any  of  these  hotels  or  boarding- 
houses:  and  she  did  look  so  wistful  and  sad  when 
I  bade  her  good-bye.  '  I  can  hardly  help  envying 
you,  Mary,'  she  said,  *  though  I  am  ever  so  glad 
you  are  going.  But  I  have  such  a  longing  to 
get  away  from  home  for  a  while — to  go  some- 
where, anywhere,  for  a  change.  I'm  so  weak  and 
miserable,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  if  I  could 
only  go  away  I  should  get  well.  I  haven't  been 
outside  of  this  town  for  years.'  " 

Violet's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  Poor  thing  !" 
she  said.  "  I  have  always  travelled  about 
so  much,  and  enjoyed  it  greatly.  I  wonder 
why  it  is  I  have  so  many  more  pleasures  and 
blessings  than  other  people." 

"  I  hope  they  may  never  be  fewer,"  Mary 
said,  caressing  her.  "  But  isn't  it  nice  that  now  I 
can  give  poor  Amy  Fletcher — for  that  is  her 
name — two  or  three  weeks  here  at  the  sea- 
ehore  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed !  But  you  haven't  told  me 
how  it  happens." 

In  reply  to  this  Mary  went  on  to  say  that  a 
married  friend  who  had  rented  the  cottage  she 
had  spoken  of  for  the  year,  now  found  that  he 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  349 

must  take  his  family  away  for  a  short  time, 
mountain  air  being  recommended  for  his  wife, 
who  was  in  poor  health,  and  as  it  would  cost  no 
more  to  have  the  cottage  occupied  in  their  ab- 
sence than  to  leave  it  empty,  he  had  offered  her 
the  use  of  it  rent  free. 

"He  saw  father  and  mother  last  week,"  she 
added  in  conclusion,  "  and  talked  it  over  with 
them,  and  they  have  written  me  to  accept 
his  offer  by  all  mean^,  and  stay  as  long  at  the 
shore  as  I  can." 

"But  you  are  to  visit  us,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  afterward,  if  that  will  do.  I  don't  in- 
tend to  miss  that  pleasure  if  I  can  help  it," 
Mary  answered  gleefully.  "  Now  about  my 
other  friend,  Ella  Neff.  She  is  not  an  invalid, 
but  she  teaches  for  her  support,  and  I  know 
such  a  change  would  do  her  a  world  of  good. 
She  wanted  to  come  with  me,  but  couldn't  afford 
it ;  yet  I'm  sure  she  can  in  this  way:  for  beside 
the  difference  of  board  there  will  not  be  the 
same  necessity  for  fine  dress." 

"I  should  never  have  thought  of  that,"  said 
Vi. 

"No,  of  course  not,  you  fortunate  little 
lassie ;  you  have  never  known  anything  about 
the  pinchings  of  poverty — or  the  pleasures  of 
economy,"  she  added  merrily,  "for  I  do  assure 
you  there  is  often  real  enjoyment  in  finding  how 


250  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

nicely  you  can  contrive  to  make  one  dollar  do 
the  work  of  two — or  '  auld  claes  look  amaist  as 
weel's  the  new.'  But  oh,  don't  you  think  it  will- 
he  fun  to  keep  house,  do  our  own  cooking  and 
all  ?" 

"Yes,"  Violet  said  ;  "yes,  indeed." 

','  And  you'll  stay,  won't  you  ?  Don't  you 
think  you'd  enjoy  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  ever  so  much  !  but  I  don't  believe  I  can 
wait  any  longer  than  till  to-morrow  to  see 
mamma.  Besides,  I  don't  know  whether  she 
would  approve." 

"  "Well,  if  you  should  spend  a  day  at  home  and 
get  her  consent  to  come  back  ;  how  would  that 
do?" 

Vi  thought  that  plan  might  answer,  if  Ed- 
ward were  willing  to  make  one  of  the  party  at 
the  cottage. 

"We  must  consult  the  lads  at  once,"  said 
Mary.  "  Let  me  help  you  dress,  and  we'll  go  in 
search  of  them." 

Vi  sprang  up,  and  with  her  cousin's  assistance 
made  a  rapid  toilet. 

They  found  Edward  and  Charlie  in  the  sum- 
mer-house,  just  across  the  road,  waiting  for  the 
call  to  dinner.  Fortunately  no  one  was  with- 
in hearing,  and  Mary  quickly  unfolded  her 
plan. 

It  was  heard  with  delight.  "  Splendid ! 
Capital !  Of  course  we'll  be  glad  to  accept  your 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  251 

invitation,"  they  said :  Edward,  however,  put- 
ting in  the  provision,  "  If  mamma  sees  no  objec- 
tion." 

"  Or  grandpa,"  added  Violet. 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Edward;  "  mamma  never 
approves  of  anything  that  he  does  not." 

"  Where  is  the  cottage  ?  Can  we  look  at  it  ?" 
asked  Charles. 

"  Yes  ;  the  family  left  this  morning,  and  I 
have  the  key,"  Mary  answered.  "  We  could  take 
possession  to-night  if  we  chose  ;  but  I  must  lay 
in  some  provisions  first." 

"Let's  walk  up  (or  down,  whichever  it  is) 
after  dinner  and  look  at  it." 

"Yes,  Charlie,  if  Edward  and  Vi  are  agreed. 
It  is  up,  on  this  street,  about  two  blocks  from 
here." 

"  Directly  in  front  of  the  ocean  ?  That's  all 
right." 

"  Or  the  ocean  directly  in  front  of  it,"  Mary 
returned  laughingly. 

"  All  the  same  ;  don't  be  too  critical,  Miss 
Keith,"  said  Charlie. 

They  did  not  linger  long  over  dinner  or  des- 
sert, but  made  haste  to  the  cottage,  eager  to  see 
what  accommodations  it  afforded. 

It  was  small,  the  rooms  few  in  number,  and 
mere  boxes  compared  to  those  Edward  and 
Violet  had  been  accustomed  to  at  Ion  and  Via- 
mede;  and  very  much  more  contracted  than 


252  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

those  of  the  cottage  their  mother  was  occupy- 
ing ,  yet  all  four  were  quite  satisfied  to  take  up 
their  residence  in  it  for  a  season. 

"  Four  bedrooms,"  remarked  Mary  reflect^ 
ively  :  "  two  will  do  for  the  lads  and  two  for 
the  lasses.  Parlor  and  dining-room  are  not 
very  spacious,  but  will  hold  us  all  when  neces- 
sary ;  I  don't  suppose  we'll  spend  much  of  the 
daytime  within  doors.  By  the  way,  I  think  we 
must  add  Don  Keith  to  our  party — if  he'll 
come." 

The  boys  said  "  By  all  means,"  and  Vi  raised 
no  objection. 

"  When  do  you  expect  Ella  and  Amy  ?"  asked 
Charles,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  both. 

"I  telegraphed  to  mother  at  once  to  invite 
them,  and  shall  expect  to  see  them  about  day 
after  to-morrow." 

"  What  sort  of  provisions  do  you  propose  to 
lay  in,  Miss  Keith  ?"  inquired  Charlie.  "  I  am 
personally  interested  in  that." 

"  I  djo  not  doubt  that  in  the  least,  Mr.  Per- 
rine,"  she  answered  demurely.  "1  intend  to 
buy  some  of  the  best  flour  and  groceries  that  I 
ean  find." 

"  Flour  ?  can't  you  buy  bread  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  perhaps  I  may  choose  to  exhibit 
my  skill  in  its  manufacture;  also  in  that  of 
cake  and  pastry." 

"Ah!    Well,  no  objection  to  that  except  that 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  353 

we  don't  want  you  shut  up  in  the  kitchen  when 
the  rest  of  us  are  off  pleasuring.  "What  about 
other  supplies  ?" 

"I  see  you  have  some  idea  of  what  is  neces- 
sary in  housekeeping,  Charlie,  and  I'll  give  you 
a  good  recommendation  to — the  first  nice  girl 
who  asks  me  if  you'll  make  a  good  husband," 
Mary  returned,  looking  at  her  cousin  with 
laughing  eyes. 

''Am  I  to  have  an  answer  to  my  question, 
Miss  Keith  ?"  he  inquired  with  dignity 

"  Yes,  when  I  see  fit  to  give  it.  The  Mar- 
stons  were,  of  course,  served  with  butter,  eggs, 
milk  and  cream,  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  and  Mr. 
Marston  told  me  he  had  spoken  to  the  persons 
thus  serving  him  and  his  to  do  likewise  by  me 
and  mine  :  does  this  explanation  relieve  your 
mind,  Mr.  Perrine  ?" 

"  Entirely.  I  am  satisfied  that  we  are  not 
invited  to  share  starving  rations,  which  I  am 
morally  certain  would  give  me  the  dyspepsia." 

"  I  think  we  are  very  fortunate,"  Mary  re- 
marked, resuming  her  ordinary  tone  ;  "  they 
have  left  us  bedding,  table  and  kitchen  furni- 
ture, and  we  have  nothing  whatever  to  provide 
except  our  food,  drink  and  clothing." 

"  I  shall  order  a  carriage  for  an  early  hour  to- 
morrow morning,"  said  Edward,  "and  drive 
over  to  see  my  mother.  Vi  will,  of  course,  go 
along,  and  I  wish,  Cousin  Mary,  that  you  and 
Charlie  would  go  top."... 


254:  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  Mary  said.  "I 
should  enjoy  it  extremely,  but  there  are  some 
few  arrangements  to  be  made  here.  The  girls 
may  come  to-morrow  evening,  and  I  must  be 
here  and  ready  to  receive  them." 

Then  Charlie  decided  that  he  must  stay  and 
take  care  of  Mary ;  so  it  was  finally  arranged 
that  Edward  and  Violet  should  go  alone,  and  the 
former  attend  to  the  ordering  of  the  groceries, 
and  anything  else  he  could  think  of  that  was 
desirable  and  did  not  require  to  be  fresh. 

When  the  carriage  containing  Edward  and 
Violet  drove  up  to  their  mother's  door,  nearly 
all  the  family  and  their  guests  were  out  upon 
the  beach. 

There  was  instantly  a  glad  shout  from  Harold, 
Herbert  and  Walter,  "There  they  are!"  and 
they,  their  sisters  and  grandfather  started  at 
once  for  the  house,  while  Mrs.  Dinsmore  and 
Mrs.  Travilla,  who  were  within,  hastened  to  the 
door. 

Mrs.  Conly  and  Virginia,  slowly  sauntering 
along  within  sight  of  the  cottage,  looked  after 
those  who  were  hurrying  towards  it,  with  smiles 
of  contempt. 

"  Such  a  hugging  and  kissing  as  there  will  be 
now!"  sneered  Virginia;  "they  will  make  as 
much  fuss  as  if  they  hadn't  seen  each  other  for 
five  years." 

"Yes,"  returned  her  mother,  "and  I  don't 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  255 

wish  to  be  a  spectator  of  the  sickening  scene. 
Thank  fortune  I'm  not  of  the  overly  affectionate 
kind." 

"Mamma,  mamma!"  cried  Violet,  springing 
into  the  dear  arms  so  joyfully  opened  to  receive 
her,  "  oh,  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad  to  see  you  again!" 

"Not  more  glad  than  mamma  is,  darling,'* 
Elsie  said,  clasping  her  close  with  tender  caresses. 

"  And  you've  come  home  a  day  sooner  than 
you  were  expected!  how  good  in  you!"  the 
younger  Elsie  exclaimed,  taking  her  turn. 

"  Yes,  but  not  to  stay ;  that  is,  I  mean  if 
mamma  consents  to — " 

Bat  the  sentence  remained  unfinished  for 
awhile,  there  were  so  many  claiming  a  hug  and 
kiss  from  both  herself  and  Edward  ;  indeed  I  am 
afraid  Virginia  was  so  far  correct  in  her  predic- 
tion that  there  was  as  much  embracing  and  re- 
joicing, perhaps  even  more,  than  there  would 
have  been  in  the  Conly  family  in  receiving  a 
brother  and  sister  who  had  been  absent  for 
years. 

But  when  all  that  had  been  attended  to,  and 
the  pleasant  little  excitement  began  to  subside, 
it  did  not  take  many  minutes  for  mamma  and 
grandpa  and  grandma  to  learn  all  about  the 
proposed  essay  in  housekeeping  on  the  part  of 
the  young  folks. 

"  What!  does  my  Vi  want  to  leave  her  mother 
so  soon?"  Mrs.  Travilla  said  with  hall 


256  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

reproachful  tenderness,  putting  an  arm  about 
the  slender,  girlish  waist,  and  pressing  another 
kiss  on  the  softly  rounded,  blooming  cheek. 

"  No,  mamma  dearest,"  Yi  said,  blushing  and 
laying  her  head  down  on  her  mother's  shoulder, 
"  but  the  house  here  is  as  full  as  ever,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  that  makes  no  difference;  there  is 
plenty  of  room." 

"Well,  mamma,  I  don't  like  to  be  away  from 
you,  or  any  of  the  dear  ones,  but  I  do  think  it 
would  be  great  fun  for  a  little  while.  Don't 
you?  wouldn't  you  have  liked  it  when  you  were 
my  age?" 

"  Yes,  I  daresay  I  should,  and  I  see  no  great 
objection,  if  you  and  Edward  wish  to  try  it. 
What  do  you  say,  papa?" 

"  That  I  think  their  mother  is  the  right  per- 
son to  decide  the  question,  and  that  I  do  not 
suppose  they  can  come  to  any  harm,"  Mr.  Dins- 
more  answered,  with  a  kindly  look  and  smile  di- 
rected to  Edward  and  Violet.  "  I  doubt  if  I 
should  have  allowed  you  to  do  such  a  thing  at 
Vi's  age,  Elsie,"  he  added,  "  but  I  believe  I  grow 
more  indulgent  with  advancing  years — perhaps 
more  foolish." 

"No,  papa,  I  cannot  think  that,"  she  said, 
lifting  her  soft  eyes  to  his  with  a  world  of  filial 
tenderness  and  reverence  in  their  brown  depths  ; 
"  I  lean  very  much  upon  the  wisdom  of  your 
decisions.  Well,  dears,  since  grandpa  does  not 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  257 

disapprove,  you  have  my  full  consent  to  do  as 
you  please  in  this  matter." 

They  thanked  her  warmly. 

"Cousin  Mary  would  be  delighted  if  Elsie 
would  come  too,"  said  Violet,  looking  wishfully 
at  her  sister,  "  and  so  would  I.  I  don't  sup- 
pose, mamma,  you  could  spare  us  both  at  once, 
but  if  Elsie  would  like  to  go,  I  will  stay,  and 
not  feel  it  the  least  bit  of  a  hardship  either," 
she  added,  turning  to  her  mother  with  a  bright, 
affectionate  smile. 

"I  should  be  lonely  with  both  my  older 
daughters  away,"  the  mother  said,  "  but  I  will 
not  be  selfish  in  my  love.  Elsie  may  go,  too,  if 
she  wishes." 

"  Dear,  kind  mamma,  selfishness  is  no  part 
of  your  nature,"  her  namesake  daughter  re- 
sponded promptly,  "  but  Elsie  has  not  the  slight- 
est desire  to  go.  Yet  I  thank  my  sweet  sister 
ail  the  same  for  her  very  kind  and  unselfish 
offer,"  she  added,  giving  Violet  a  look  of  strong 
affection. 

"But  what  is  grandpa  to  do  without  his 
merry  little  cricket?"  asked  Mr.  Dinsmore, 
drawing  Vi  down  upon  his  knee.  "  For  how 
long  is  it?  one,  two,  or  three  weeks?" 

"  I  don't  know,  grandpa  ;  perhaps  I  shall  grow 
tired  and  homesick,  and  want  to  come  back 
directly." 

"  Well,  no  one  will  be  sorry  to  see  you,  come 
when  you  may." 


258  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"You  will  always  be  joyfully  welcomed," 
added  mamma ;  "  nor  Edward  less  so.  Now  let 
us  consider  what  you  will  need,  and  how  best  to 
provide  it.  I  claim  the  privilege  of  furnishing 
all  the  groceries  and  everything  else  for  the  lar- 
der that  need  not  be  procured  upon  the  spot." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  mamma!"  said  Edward; 
"but  I  knew  you  would." 

Violet  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  sleep 
with  her  mother  that  night,  and  all  day  long 
was  scarcely  absent  from  her  side.  Evidently 
the  child  had  a  divided  heart,  and  was  at  times 
more  than  half  inclined  to  stay  at  home. 

But  Edward  urged  that  he  would  not  half 
enjoy  himself  without  her,  that  she  had  promised 
to  go  if  mamma  did  not  withhold  consent,  and 
that  Mary  would  be  sadly  disappointed  if  she 
failed  to  return  with  him.  Donald  Keith,  too, 
who  was  still  there,  and  had  accepted  Mary's 
invitation,  added  his  persuasions.  "He  was 
sure  they  would  have  a  very  pleasant  time,  and 
if  she  grew  homesick  she  could  drive  home  any 
day  in  a  couple  of  hours;  he  would  be  glad  to 
bring  her  over  himself  if  she  would  let  him, 
or  she  could  come  in  less  time  by  the  cars." 

Then  her  mother  came  to  her  help.  "I 
think  it  will  be  best  for  you  to  go,  dear,  even 
if  you  should  stay  but  a  day  or  two,"  she  said. 
"  And  if  your  grandpa  likes,  he  and  I  will  drive 
over  with  you,  and  see  your  snug  little  cottage, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  259 

and  whether  there  is  anything  we  can  do  to  add 
to  the  comfort  or  enjoyment  of  those  who  are 
to  occupy  it  for  a  season." 

"A  very  good  idea,  daughter,"  Mr.  Dins- 
more  said,  and  Vi's  rather  troubled  face  grew 
bright. 

"  Oh  how  nice,  mamma !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
will  go  without  any  more  foolish  hesitation, 
although  I  do  not  think  Edward  is  quite  cor- 
rect in  saying  I  promised." 

"  Foolish  enough  !"  sneered  Virginia,  who 
prided  herself  on  her  audacity  in  making  disa- 
greeable remarks.  "  I  should  be  very  much 
ashamed  of  myself  if  I  were  half  the  mother* 
baby  you  are." 

"And  I,"  remarked  Mr.  Dinsmore  severely, 
irritated  out  of  all  patience  by  the  pained  look 
in  Yi's  face,  "  should  be  more  ashamed  of  my 
sweet  little  granddaughter  if  she  were  as  heart- 
less and  ready  to  wound  the  feelings  of  others 
as  a  certain  niece  of  mine  se-  ms  to  be." 

"  Will  you  come  to  my  house-warming,  Mrs. 
Perkins,  you  and  Fred  and  Susie  ?"  asked 
Mary  Keith  as  they  left  the  breakfast-table  of 
the  Colorado  House  the  next  morning.  "I  ex- 
pect my  cousins  the  Travillas  about  dinner- 
time, and  the  morning  train  may  bring  the 
other  guests.  I  mean  to  be  all  ready  for  them 
at  any  rate.  The  dinner  is  to  be  prepared  with 
my  own  hands,  and  though  it  will  be  on  a  small 


260  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

scale  compared  with  those  served  here,  you  shall 
at  least  have  a  hearty  welcome." 

''Thank  you,  we  would  he  delighted,  but 
are  already  engaged  for  the  picnic,"  Mrs.  Per- 
kins said. 

So  they  parted  with  mutual  good  wishes,  each 
hoping  the  other  would  have  an  enjoyable  day. 

Charles  and  Mary  made  themselves  busy  in 
seeing  to  the  removal  to  the  cottage  of  their 
own  and  cousin's  luggage,  making  some  pur- 
chases at  the  provision  stores,  and  some  rear- 
rangements of  furniture ;  then  about  the  din- 
ner, Mary  pressing  Charlie  into  her  service  as 
sheller  of  peas,  husker  of  corn,  and  beater  of 


They  had  a  very  merry  time  over  their  work, 
though  Charlie  protested  vigorously  against  be- 
ing set  at  such  menial  tasks,  and  declared  that 
"Ed"  should  be  made  to  do  a  fair  share  of 
them  in  future. 

Mary  sent  him  t  •  the  train  to  meet  the  girls, 
while  she  stayed  behind  to  watch  ever  the  din- 
ner. 

He  had  scarcely  gone  when  a  carnage  drew 
up  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dinsmore, 
Mrs.  Travilla,  Edward  and  Violet,  and  Donald 
Keith  alighted  therefrom  and  came  trooping  in, 
most  of  them  laden  with  parcels,  while  the  driver 
brought  up  the  rear,  carrying  a  large  hamper 
that  seemed  to  be  well  filled  and  heavy. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  261 

Mary's  first  emotion  on  seeing  the  arrival  was 
delight,  the  second  a  sudden  fear  that  her  din- 
ner would  not  suffice  for  so  many. 

But  that  fear  was  relieved  at  sight  of  the 
hamper  and  a  whisper  from  Vi,  who  headed  the 
procession,  that  it  contained  such  store  of  pro- 
vision as  would  obviate  the  necessity  of  much 
cooking  for  several  days  to  come. 

" Oh  how  good  and  kind  in  your  mother!" 
Mary  exclaimed  in  a  like  low  tone,  then  has- 
tened to  welcome  her  guests  with  unmixed 
pleasure. 

"0  Cousin  Elsie,  how  nice  in  you  to  come 
and  to  bring  Edward  and  Violet !  You  are 
going  to  let  them  stay,  I  am  sure,  and  I  am  so 
glad.  So  glad  to  see  you,  too,  Cousin  Rose  and 
Cousin  Horace:  it  seems  as  if  I  ought  to  call  you 
aunt  and  uncle,  though." 

"  Then  suppose  you  do,"  Mr.  Dinsmore  said, 
shaking  hands  with  her,  and  kissing  her  rosy 
cheek.  "  You  have  my  permission." 

"  I  shall,  then,  and  thank  you,"  she  returned 
in  her  bright  merry  tones.  "  0  Don,"  turning 
to  Mr.  Keith  with  outstretched  hands,  "  so  here 
you  are  !  that's  a  good  boy." 

"  Yes,  and  so  good  a  boy  must  not  be  put  off 
with  less  than  others  get,"  he  said,  following 
Mr.  Dinsmore's  example. 

"Well,  as  you  are  only  a  cousin  it  doesn't 
matter,"  she  remarked  indifferently.  "  Please 


262  ELSIE'S    WIDOWHOOD, 

all  make  yourselves  at  home.  Oh  there's  the 
stage  stopping  at  the  gate  !  the  girls  have  come!" 
and  she  flew  out  to  welcome  them. 

The  little  parlor  was  quite  inconveniently 
crowded,  but  that  afforded  subject  for  mirth,  as 
Mary  introduced  her  friends  and  bustled  about 
trying  to  find  seats  for  them  all. 

"  "We  shall  have  to  take  dinner  in  relays  or 
else  set  a  table  in  here,  besides  the  one  in  the 
dining-room/'  she  said,  laughing. 

"  Let  Amy  and  me  go  to  our  room  and  dress 
while  your  first  set  eat,  and  give  us  our  dinner 
afterwards,"  suggested  Ella  Xeff. 

"  Yes,  I  should  much  prefer  it,"  Miss 
Fletcher  said,  "for  we  are  really  too  dusty  and 
dirty  to  sit  down  to  your  table  now." 

"And  I  shall  act  as  waiter  to  the  first  table 
and  eat  with  these  ladies  at  the  second,"  said 
Charlie. 

"Very  well,  I  can  manage  to  seat  the  rest," 
Mary  said  ;  and  so  it  was  arranged. 

The  dinner  proved  very  nice  and  very  abun- 
dant with  the  help  of  the  contents  of  the  ham- 
per. Mary's  cooking  received  many  praises,  in 
which  Charlie  claimed  a  share,  because,  as  he 
said,  he  had  assisted  largely. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WO  spirits  gay,  and  kindly  heart! 
Precious  the  blessings  ye  impart!" 

— Joanna  BaUlie. 

•  WELL,  cricket,  are  we  to  carry  you  back  with 
us  ?"  Mr.  Dinsmore  asked,  with  a  smiling  look 
at  Violet.  "  If  so,  'tis  time  to  be  tying  on  your 
hat,  for  the  carriage  is  at  the  door." 

"No,  grandpa,  I  am  going  to  stay,"  she 
answered,  holding  up  her  face  for  a  parting 
kiss. 

"  I  am  well  satisfied  with  your  decision,  dear 
child,"  her  mother  said  when  bidding  her  good- 
bye, as  they  and  Edward  stood  alone  together 
for  a  moment  on  the  little  porch.  "I  think 
these  young  people  are  all  safe  associates  for  you 
and  your  brother,"  turning  to  him  and  taking  a 
hand  of  each,  "and  that  you  will  enjoy  your- 
selves very  much  with  them.  But,  my  darlings, 
never  forget  in  the  midst  of  your  mirth  and 
gayety — or  in  trouble,  if  that  should  come — 
that  God's  eye  is  upon  you,  and  that  you  have  a 
Christian  character  to  maintain  before  men.  Let 
me  give  you  a  parting  text,  *  Whether  therefore 
ye  eat,  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to 
the  glory  of  God. '  And  yet  another  for  your  joy 
and  comfort,  '  The  Lord  God  is  a  sun  and  shield.1 


264  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

the  Lord  will  give  grace  and  glory  :  no  good 
thing  will  he  withhold  from  them  that  walk 
uprightly.' " 

"Was  there  ever  such  another  dear,  good 
mother  as  ours  ?"  Violet  said  to  her  brother,  al 
together  they  watched  the  carriage  out  of  sight. 

"I  wish  there  were  thousands  like  her,"  he 
answered.  "  Ever  since  I  can  remember  it  has 
been  plain  to  me  that  what  she  most  desired  for 
all  her  children  was  that  they  might  be  real, 
true,  earnest  Christians.  Vi,  if  we  are  not 
all  that,  we  can  never  lay  the  blame  at  our 
mother's  door." 

"Nor  papa's  either,"  Violet  said  with  a  sigh 
and  a  tear  to  his  memory,  "  for  he  was  just  as 
careful  as  she  is  to  train  us  up  for  God  and 
heaven." 

"  Yes,"  Edward  assented  with  emotion.  "  O 
Vi,  if  I  could  but  be  the  man  he  was  I" 

They  went  into  the  house.  In  the  little  par- 
lor Amy  Fletcher  reclined  on  a  sofa  gazing  out 
through  the  open  door  upon  the  sea. 

"  I  have  had  my  first  sight  of  old  ocean  to- 
day," she  said,  glancing  up  at  them  as  they 
came  in,  "  and  oh  how  beautiful  it  is  !  how  de- 
licious this  breeze  coming  from  it !  it  surely 
must  bring  health  and  strength  to  any  one  who 
is  not  very  ill  indeed  !" 

"  I  hope  it  will  to  you,"  Violet  said,  sitting 
down  by  her  side. 


ELSIE'S    WIDOWmOD. 


265 


*I  hope  so,"  she  returned  with  a  cheerful 
iook  and  smile,  "for  the  doctors  tell  me  I  have  no 
organic  disease,  and  that  nothing  is  more  likely 
to  build  me  up  than  sea  air  and  sea-bathing." 

Amy  was  small  and  fragile  in  appearance,  but 
not  painfully  thin ;  she  had  large  dark  grey 
eyes,  brown  hair,  a  sweet  patient  expression,  a 
clear  complexion,  and  though  usually  rather  too 
pale  and  quiet,  when  excited  or  greatly  in- 
terested the  color  would  come  and  go  on  her 
cheek,  her  eyes  shine,  and  her  whole  face  light 
up  in  a  way  that  made  her  decidedly  pretty. 

She  was  weary  now  with  her  journey  and  a 
visit  to  the  beach,  though  she  had  only  walked 
to  a  summer  house  near  by  and  sat  there  while 
the  rest  strolled  about. 

Merry  sounds  of  jest  and  laughter  were  com- 
ing from  the  kitchen. 

"  The  girls  are  washing  the  dishes,"  Amy  said 
with  a  smile,  "  and  the  lads  helping  or  hinder- 
ing, I  don't  know  which.* 

"  The  dinner  dishes  ?"  asked  Violet. 

"Yes,  Mary  set  them  aside  for  the  time,  that 
she  might  enjoy  the  company  of  yonr  friends 
while  they  stayed." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  be  of  any  assistance 
out  there  ?"  queried  Edward,  with  gravity. 

"  I  have  an  idea  that  the  place  is  quite  full 
now,"  Amy  said,  with  a  merry  glance  up  into 
fais  face.  "  I  wish  there  was  room  for  us  all,  for 


263  jfLSSE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

they  seem  to  be  haying  a  great  deal  of  sport. 
Just  hark  how  they  are  laughing  !  Well,  our 
turn  Trill  come.  Don't  you  think  we  are  going 
to  have  a  jolly  time  here  ?" 

The  door  opened  and  the  two  young  men 
came  in. 

"You  don't  know  what  you've  missed,  Ed," 
said  Charlie  helping  himself  to  a  chair  near 
Amy's  couch;  "  housework's  jolly  good  fun." 

"  When  you  don't  have  too  much  of  it,"  re- 
marked Amy. 

"And  do  it  in  pleasant  company,"  added 
Donald. 

"And  under  a  capable  and  kind  instructress," 
supplemented  Mary,  speaking  from  the  kitchen. 

"What  are  your  terms  for  tuition,  Miss 
Keith  ?"  inquired  Edward,  as  she  and  Ella  Xeff 
joined  the  circle  in  the  parlor. 

"  Beginners  get  their  board,  which  is  some- 
times more  than  they  earn." 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  said  Donald.  "  Then  I  think 
I  shall  retire  from  the  service." 

"  I  advise  you  to  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Ella, 
"  the  knowledge  you  gain  may  prove  invaluable 
in  some  future  emergency  :  some  time  when 
you  find  yourself  out  on  the  plains  or  buried  in 
the  forests  of  the  Far  West,  with  no  gentle, 
loving  woman  at  hand  to  prepare  your  meals." 

"  In  that  case  there  would  doubtless  be  an 
ingentle  and  obedient  orderly  to  do  so,"  re- 
joined Donald  with  gravity. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  267 

"  Well,  women  are  often  lectured  by  news- 
paper writers  and  others  on  the  paramount 
duty  of  making  themselves  acquainted  with  the 
culinary  art,  as  well  as  everything  else  pertain- 
ing to  housewifery,  in  order  that  they  may  he 
fully  capable  of  directing  the  labors  of  their  ser- 
vants, and  I  see  no  reason  why  the  rule  shouldn't 
hold  good  for  men,"  remarked  Ella. 

"  There,  sir,  you're  cornered,  Donald  !" 
laughed  Charlie. 

"Now  that  we  are  all  here  together,  suppose 
we  make  such  arrangements  as  are  necessary 
to  constitute  ourselves  a  tolerably  orderly 
household,"  said  Mary. 

"I  understood  that  you  were  commanding 
officer,  and  the  rest  of  us  had  nothing  to  do  but 
obey  orders,"  said  Donald. 

"  Quite  a  mistake.  This  is  not  an  army,  but 
a  democracy,  in  which  the  majority  rules.  All 
important  questions,  therefore — " 

"  Such  as  the  bill  of  fare  for  dinner,"  sug- 
gested Charlie.  "Excuse  the  hint,  ma'am." 

"  Are  to  be  put  to  vote,"  Mary  went  on,  not 
deigning  to  notice  the  interruption.  "  Mr.  Keith, 
I  propose  that  you,  as  the  eldest  of  the  party, 
take  the  chair." 

"  Which  ?"  he  asked  with  serious  air. 

"  That  large,  easy  one,  which  each  of  us  is 
politely  leaving  for  somebody  else." 

Donald  promptly  took  possession.  "Is  the 
meeting  ready  for  busme-es  ?"  he  asked. 


268  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Eeady  1"  responded  Charles  and  Edward. 

"  Somebody  make  a  motion,  then." 

"  I  move  that  Miss  Mary  Keith  be  elected 
housekeeper  extraordinar)  and  cook  plenipoten- 
tiary/' said  Ella. 

"  I  second  the  motion,"  said  Edward. 

"  You  have  all  heard  the  motion,  and  to  save 
useless  repetition  I  put  it  to  vote.  All  in 
favor—" 

A  simultaneous  "  Aye  !"  from  all  present, 
Mary  excepted. 

"  Who  are  to  be  my  assistants  ?"  she  asked. 

"  All  of  us,  I  suppose/'  said  Charles.  "  Ko, 
not  Amy  :  she's  the  invalid,  and  must  be  taken 
care  of  by  the  heartiest  and  strongest,  which  is 
probably  your  humble  servant,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men." 

"  Doubtful  that !"  said  Edward,  with  a  down- 
ward glance  at  his  own  stout  limbs. 

"I  think  we  should  all  help  in  that  and 
with  the  housework,"  remarked  Yi  modestly. 
"  Cousin  Mary,  I  can  make  beds,  sweep  and 
dust  very  nicely,  mamma  says.  It  was  her  wish 
that  I  should  learn,  and  I  did." 

"  So  can  I,"  said  Ella,  "  and  we'll  undertake 
that  part  of  the  work  together,  if  you  like, 
Miss—" 

"  Call  me  Violet  or  Vi." 

"Yes,"  said  Charlie.  "I  move  that  every- 
body be  called  by  the  Christian  name — or  some 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  269 

abbreviation  thereof — as  a  saving  of  trouble, 
and  showing  a  friendly  disposition  toward  each 
other." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Donald,  "  but  let  it  be  under- 
stood that  there's  no  objection  to  the  prefix  of 
cousin." 

"  At  what  hours  shall  we  take  our  meals  ?" 
a^ked  Mary." 

"Make  a  motion,"  said  Donald. 

"  Breakfast  at  eight,  dinner  at  one,  tea  at 
six  ;  will  these  hours  suit  all  ?  If  not,  let  us 
hare  objections." 

"  Speak  now,  or  forever  hold  your  peace," 
said  Charlie.  "  They  suit  me  well  enough  if 
the  rule  be  not  too  rigidly  enforced,  so  as  to 
interfere  with  pleasuring." 

"  I  didn't  mean  they  should  do  that,"  said 
Mary;  "they  are  only  to  be  a  general  guide." 

"  And  if  anybody  happens  to  indulge  in  an 
extra  morning  nap,  what's  to  be  the  penalty  ?" 

"A  cold  and  lonely  breakfast,  I  suppose. 
Perhaps  to  wash  his  own  dishes  besides." 

"  All  in  favor  of  the  hours  named  for  meals 
please  signify  it  by  saying  aye,"  said  Donald. 

"  Aye  !"  from  every  tongue. 

"  Anything  else,  Miss  Keith  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Just  one  thing  more,"  she  answered,  speak- 
ing with  a  sudden  seriousness,  and  in  a  low, 
almost  tremulous  tone  that  sobered  them  all 
instantly. 


270  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

She  went  on  with  an  effort.  "  We  all  pro* 
fess  to  be  Christians:  shall  we  live  together,  even 
for  the  short  space  of  two  or  three  weeks,  like 
heathen  or  mere  worldings  ?" 

A  moment's  silence,  then  Donald  said  with 
quiet  gravity,  "  Surely  not,  Mary." 

"  We  will  not  partake  of  the  food  God  pro- 
vides for  our  nourishment  and  enjoyment  with- 
out asking  his  blessing  upon  it,  or  begin  or  end 
the  day  without  prayer  and  praise,  will  we  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  Oh  no  !"  came  softly  from  the  lips  of  Amy 
and  Violet,  and  was  echoed  by  the  other  voices. 

"Then  which  of  you,  my  three  cousins,  Don, 
Edward,  and  Charlie,  will  take  the  lead  in  these 
acts  of  worship  ?" 

A  longer  silence  than  before  ;  then  Vi  turned 
a  wistful,  pleading  look  upon  her  brother. 

There  was  no  mistaking  its  meaning  ;  and  his 
mother's  parting  words  were  ringing  in  his 
ears. 

"  If  no  one  else  is  willing,"  he  said,  "  I  will 
do  it." 

"Thank  you,  Edward,"  said  Charlie,  rising 
and  grasping  his  hand  ;  "  but  it  would  be  too 
selfish  to  leave  you  to  do  it  alone  ;  so  I  will  take 
my  turn." 

'•'  I  too,"  said  Donald.  "  It  should  never  be 
said  of  a  soldier  that  he  refused  to  stand  by  his 
colors." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  271 

"Or  of  a  follower  of  Christ  that  he  was 
shamed  of  his  Master's  service,"  added  Ed- 
ward. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  they  should  take 
turns,  day  about,  according  to  their  age. 

"Five  o'clock — just  an  hour  to  tea-time," 
Charlie  said,  consulting  his  watch:  "what  shall 
we  do  with  it  ?  Amy,  do  you  feel  equal  to  a 
stroll  on  the  beach,  with  the  support  of  my 
arm  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  it  would  be  very  nice,  but  I  am 
tired  enough  to  think  it  still  nicer  just  to  lie 
here  and  look  at  the  sea,"  she  said.  "I  shall 
not  mind  being  left  alone,  though  ;  so,  please, 
all  the  rest  of  you  go.  And  to-morrow  I  shall 
be  able  to  join  you,  I  hope." 

"  Ah  no,  we  won't  leave  you  here  all  alone," 
said  several  voices. 

"No,"  said  Mary,  "for  I  am  going  to  stay 
with  her.  I  am  weary  enough  just  now  to  pre- 
fer resting  in  this  easy  chair  to  a  ramble  on  the 
beach  or  anywhere  else  ;  and  beside,  I  want  a 
chat  with  Amy." 

"  Secrets  to  tell,  eh  ?"  said  Charlie,  picking 
up  his  hat.  "  Good-bye,  then.  Don't  forget  to 
speak  well  of  the  absent." 

"  Oh  I  am  so  glad  to  be  alone  with  you  for 
a  little  while,  Mary,"  Amy  said,  when  the  others 
had  all  gone.  "  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  in  asking  me  to  come  here ;  such  a 


272  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

blessed  relief  as  it  was  !  for  it  seemed  to  me  the 
very  monotony  of  my  life  was  killing  me." 

"The  thanks  hardly  belong  to  me,"  Mary 
said,  between  a  smile  and  a  tear,  as  she  leaned 
over  Amy,  gently  smoothing  back  ike  iiair  from 
her  forehead.  "  I  think  they  should  be  given 
first  to  our  heavenly  Father,  and  second  to  Mr. 
Marston." 

"Yes,  and  third  to  you,  Mary.  I  used  to 
wonder  over  that  text  in  Isaiah — '  He  that  be- 
lieveth  shall  not  make  haste.'  I  didn't  know 
what  it  meant,  but  I  believe  I  do  now." 

"Well,  dear,  what  is  your  explanation?" 

"  I  think  it  means  he  that  is  strong  in  faith 
will  patiently  and  calmly  wait  God's  time  for  the 
fulfilment  of  his  promises,  and  for  relief  from 
trouble  and  trial.  Oh  if  I  could  but  do  it  always !'' 

"  And  I,"  sighed  Mary;  "  but  oh  how  oiten  I 
am  guilty  of  making  haste  for  myself  or  for 
others — my  dear  ones  especially.  There  is  poor 
mother  so  often  sick,  and  it  is  so  hard  to  see 
her  suffer,  when  she  is  so  good,  too,  so  patient 
and  cheerful  and  resigned." 

"Yes,  I  know  that  must  be  far  harder  than 
suffering  yourself  " 

"Amy,"  Mary  said  after  a  pause,  "you  must 
not  forget  that  ;t  is  a  very  great  pleasure  to  me 
to  have  you  here,  and  that  if  you  and  the  others 
had  refused  to  come  and  stay  with  me  I  could 
not  have  accepted  Mr.  Marston's  offer." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  273 

"  It  is  very  generous  in  you  to  set  it  in  that 
light,"  Amy  answered,  with  a  grateful  look  and 
smile. 

They  found  so  much  to  talk  about  that  time 
flew  very  fast,  and  they  were  greatly  surprised 
on  seeing  Ella  and  Violet  coming  up  the  path 
from  the  gate  to  the  house. 

"  Surely  it  is  not  six  yet !"  Mary  exclaimed. 

"No,  only  half -past  five,"  Vi  said,  taking  out 
her  watch  ;  "  but  you  are  tired,  and  Ella  and  I 
want  you  to  let  us  get  the  tea." 

"  Good  girls  !"  returned  Mary  gayly.  "I  feel 
quite  rested  now,  but  you  may  help  if  you  like. 
I'm  not  going  to  cook  much,  though — only  to 
make  tea  and  stew  a  few  oysters." 

Tea  and  the  clearing  up  after  it  well  over, 
they  all  gathered  on  the  porch,  where  they  had 
the  full  benefit  of  the  breeze  and  could  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  sea  by  the  light  of  the  stars,  and 
listen  to  its  ceaseless  murmur,  while  amusing 
themselves  with  cheerful  chat  and  in  making 
arrangements  for  various  pleasure  excursions 
about  the  vicinity. 

It  was  unanimously  decided  to  reserve  the 
long  walks  until  Amy  should  grow  stronger,  in 
order  that  she  might  share  the  enjoyment. 

In  the  meanwhile  they  would  fill  up  the  time 
with  bathing,  lounging,  short  strolls,  driving, 
and  boating. 

They  finished  the  evening  with  the  singing  of 


374:  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

hymns,  a  chapter  of  the  Bible  read  aloud  by 
Donald,  and  a  short,  earnest  prayer,  well  suited 
to  their  needs,  offered  by  him. 

The  next  day  their  plans  were  interfered  with 
by  a  constant,  steady  rainfall,  but  no  one  fretted 
or  looked  dull.  Most  of  them  took  their  bath 
in  spite  of  it,  and  there  were  books  and  games 
with  which  to  while  away  the  time  within  doors. 

The  second  day  was  bright  and  clear.  Amy 
felt  herself  already  so  greatly  improved  that  she 
was  eager  for  a  proposed  boating  excursion  on 
Shark  River.  Breakfast  was  prepared,  eaten, 
and  cleared  away  in  good  season.  Mary  was  an 
excellent  manager,  working  rapidly  and  well 
herself  and  skilfully  directing  the  labors  of 
others. 

They  took  the  stage  down  to  the  river,  hired 
a  boat  large  enough  to  carry  the  whole  party, 
gpent  a  couple  of  hours  in  rowing  back  and 
forth,  up  and  down,  then  returned  home  as 
they  had  come,  reaching  there  in  season  for 
their  bath  and  the  preparation  of  a  good 
though  not  very  elaborate  dinner,  Mary  press- 
ing Ella  and  the  lads  into  her  service,  while 
Amy  and  Violet  were  ordered  to  lie  down  and 
rest  after  their  bath. 

"What's  the  programme  for  this  afternoon?'* 
asked  Charlie,  finishing  his  dessert  and  pushing 
his  plate  aside. 

"Dish-washing,  a  long  lounge  on  beds  and 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  375 

couches,  then  tea  and  a  second  chapter  of  cleans- 
ing of  utensils,  followed  by  an  evening  stroll  on 
the  beach,"  answered  Mary. 

"  And  what  for  to-morrow?"  queried  Donald. 

"Ah,  that  reminds  me,"  said  Edward,  "that 
Mrs.  Perkins  told  me  she  expects  her  husband 
by  the  evening  train,  and  wants  us  to  join  them 
to-morrow  in  getting  up  a  fishing  party.  The 
plan  is  to  drive  over  to  Manasquan,  hire  a  boat 
there  and  go  out  on  the  ocean.  What  do  you 
all  say  about  it?" 

The  young  men  were  highly  in  favor  of  the 
trip  ;  Amy  would  see  how  she  felt  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  Violet  demurred,  lest  there  might  be  dan- 
ger in  going  upon  the  ocean,  and  "  because  she 
could  not  see  any  pleasure  in  catching  fish  ;  it 
seemed  so  cruel." 

"  But  you  eat  them,"  reasoned  her  brother. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  and  I  suppose  it  is  very  incon- 
sistent to  object  to  catching  them,  but  I  do.  I 
could  not  enjoy  seeing  them  suffer." 

"  You  can  go  with  us  without  feeling  obliged 
to  share  in  that,  can  you  not?"  asked  Donald. 

"Needn't  even  go  out  in  the  boat  unless  you 
choose,"  put  in  Charlie.  "We'll  find  a  shady 
spot  under  the  trees  near  the  shore  where  you 
can  sit  and  watch  us." 

Violet  thought  that  plan  would  do  very  well; 
she  could  take  a  book  along,  and  the  time  would 
not  seem  tedious. 


276  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

•"But  Mary  has  not  spoken,"  said  Donald, 
turning  to  her. 

"I  see  no  objection  to  your  going,  any  or  all 
of  you,"  she  answered  brightly,  "  but  I  must  be 
excused." 

"  But  why?"  they  all  asked  in  various  tones 
of  disappointment  and  inquiry. 

"Because  to-morrow  is  Saturday,  and  the 
cook  and  housekeeper  must  make  ready  for  the 
Sabbath  rest  by  doing  two  days'  work  in  one." 

"  Can't  we  manage  that  somehow?"  asked 
Donald. 

Mary  shook  her  head.  "No;  but  I  shan't 
mind  it  at  all.  Go  and  enjoy  yourselves,  my 
children,  and  leave  me  to  attend  to  my  duties 
at  home." 

''The  rest  can  go  if  they  choose,  but  if  you 
stay  at  home,  cousin,  I  shall  stay  with  you." 
announced  Violet  with  decision. 

They  rose  from  the  table. 

"Mary,"  said  Charlie,  "let  the  dishes  stand 
a  bit.  I'm  going  to  the  post-office,"  and  seizing 
his  hat  he  disappeared,  followed  by  the  laughter 
of  the  others." 

"  Quick,  now,  lads  and  lasses,  let's  have  them 
all  out  of  the  way  before  he  gets  back,"  said 
Ella,  beginning  to  clear  the  table  in  hot 
haste. 

The  heat  of  the  sun  was  too  great  to  allow  of 
very  fast  walking,  and  Charlie  was  gone  a  full 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  377 

ialf  hour ;  when  he  returned  he  found  them  all 
sitting  at  their  ease  in  the  parlor. 

"I  think  we'll  leave  those  dishes  till  the  cool 
of  the  evening,  Mary,"  he  said,  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

"No,  I  can't  consent  to  that — not  on  ordi- 
nary occasions,"  she  answered  demurely. 

"Then  back  to  the  post-office  goes  this  let- 
ter!" he  cried  threateningly,  holding  aloft  on& 
with  her  address  upon  it." 

"  Silly  boy,  the  dishes  are  done  without  your 
help  ;  give  it  to  me!"  she  cried,  springing  up 
and  catching  it  out  of  his  hand. 

"  A  fortunate  day;  nobody  neglected  by  Un- 
cle Sam's  messengers,"  he  said,  pulling  several 
more  from  his  pocket  and  distributing  them. 

The  tongues  were  silent  for  a  moment;  then 
Vi  uttered  a  joyous  exclamation.  "  0  Mary, 
you  needn't  stay  at  home  to-morrow  !  mamma 
says  she  will  send  a  hamper  by  the  evening  train 
to-morrow,  with  provision  to  last  us  over  Sun- 
day, so  that  you  need  not  be  troubled  with  Sat- 
urday cooking." 

Everybody  was  glad,  everybody  thankful. 

"  But  to-morrow's  dinner,"  said  Mary,  pres- 
ently; "  shall  we  get  back  in  time  for  me  to 
cook  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Edward;  "but  there 
are  hotels  where  we  can  dine,  and  I  invite  you 
all  to  be  my  guests  at  whichever  one  the  party 


278  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

may  select.  Now,  Cousin  Mary,"  as  he  read 
hesitation  in  her  face,  "  I  shall  be  hurt  if  any- 
body refuses  my  invitation." 

So  no  one  ventured  an  objection. 

The  day  proved  auspicious.  Amy  was  unu- 
sually well,  everybody  else  in  good  health  and 
spirits,  no  excuse  for  staying  at  home:  so  all  went 
and  spent  the  entire  day,  taking  an  early  start 
and  not  returning  till  late  in  the  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  Macbeth.  If  we  should  fail— 

"LadyM.  We  fall! 

But  screw  yonr  courage  to  the  sticking  place, 
And  we'll  not  fail." 

— Shakespeare. 

SUNDAY  morning  came  and  our  young  friends 
met  at  the  breakfast  table,  not  in  their  usual 
jesting,  mirthful  mood,  but  with  cheerful  grav- 
ity of  demeanor,  suited  to  the  sacredness  of  the 
day. 

f<  There  is  no  preaching,  no  sort  of  religious 
service  within  our  reach  to-day,"  Edward  re- 
marked. 

"  Then  shall  we  not  have  one  of  our  own?" 
asked  Mary.  "  I  have  a  book  of  sermons:  one 
might  be  read  aloud;  then  we  can  have  three 
prayers  and  as  many  hymns  as  we  please;  we  all 
sing." 

"And  we  might  have  a  Bible  reading  also," 
suggested  Ella.  '  'And  suppose  we  take  up  the  In- 
ternational Sunday-school  Lesson  and  study  it.'* 

All  these  propositions  were  received  with  fa- 
vor and  eventually  carried  out. 

They  did  not  think  it  wrong  to  stroll  quietly 
along  the  shore,  or  to  sit  there  watching  the  , 
play  of  the  billows,  and  thus  they  ended  their 
afternoon. 


280  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

The  evening  was  pleasantly  spent  in  serious 
talk  and  the  singing  of  hymns  on  the  front 
porch,  where  they  could  feel  the  breeze  and  see 
the  foam-crested  waves  by  the  light  of  a  young 
moon. 

They  retired  early,  feeling  that  they  had  had 
an  enjoyable,  restful  day,  and  rose  betimes,  full 
of  life  and  vigor — except  Amy;  and  even  she 
felt  equal  to  a  longer  stroll  than  she  had  yet 
taken. 

The  days  flew  by  on  swift  wings,  each  bring- 
ing its  duties  and  enjoyments  with  it,  and  so 
pleasant  was  the  gay,  free  life  they  led  that  at 
times  they  half  regretted  that  it  must  come  to 
an  end. 

Yet  there  were  other  times  when  some,  if  not 
all  of  them,  anticipated,  with  real  satisfaction, 
the  return  to  the  more  serious  business  of  life. 

There  was  a  very  frequent  exchange  of  visits 
between  their  party  and  the  one  to  which  Ed- 
ward and  Violet  more  properly  belonged;  some- 
times by  way  of  the  cars,  at  others  by  riding  or 
driving;  so  that  Violet  was  never  many  days 
without  sight  and  speech  of  her  mother  and  some 
of  the  other  dear  ones  at  home;  and  that  recon- 
ciled her  to  a  longer  absence  from  it. 

At  length  the  younger  Elsie  was  persuaded  to 
come  and  spend  a  few  days  with  Mary  and  her 
party,  the  mother  consenting  to  spare  both 
daughters  for  that  length  of  time.  The  sweet 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  <J81 

girl's  presence  added  much  to  the  enjoyment  of 
all,  especially  her  sister,  for  their  mutual  attach- 
ment had  always  been  very  strong. 

One  day  there  was  a  large  fishing  party,  com- 
posed principally  of  guests  from  other  houses, 
which  both  Elsie  and  Violet  declined  to  attend; 
but  Vi,  fired  with  a  laudable  ambition  to  emu- 
late her  cousin  Mary's  skill  in  the  culinary  art, 
volunteered  to  get  dinner,  and  have  it  ready  by 
the  time  the  others  returned. 

Each  one  of  them  offered  to  stay  and  assist, 
but  she  would  not  hear  of  it;  laughingly  assert- 
ing that  "she  wanted  all  the  honor  and  glory, 
and  wouldn't  have  anybody  with  her  but  Elsie, 
who  knew  nothing  about  cooking,  but  would 
keep  her  from  being  Mone  and  lorn,'  and  per- 
haps help  a  little  in  those  things  which  were  so 
easy  that  even  the  lads  could  do  them,"  she  con- 
cluded, with  a  merry  glance  from  one  to  the 
other. 

Edward  was  not  there,  some  errand  having 
taken  him  home  by  the  morning  train. 

"  Can  you  stand  that  insinuation,  Donald?" 
asked  Charlie.  "  I  vote  that  you  and  I  stay  at 
home  to-morrow  and  get  dinner,  just  to  prove 
our  skill  in  that  line." 

"Agreed,"  said  Donald;  "but  what's  to  be 
done  with  the  lasses  in  the  meantime?  We  can't 
let  them  go  off  pleasuring  alone." 

"  Oh,  Edward  can  take  care  of  them  all  for 


232  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

once;  he's  to  be  back  by  dinner- time  to-day,  you 
know,  so  will  be  on  hand  here  to-morrow." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Ella,  laughing,  and  with 
a  mock  courtesy,  "  but  we  are  entirely  capable 
of  taking  care  of  ourselves,  as  perhaps  we  may 
prove  to  you  one  of  these  days.  But  here's  the 
carriage  at  the  gate.  Come,  Amy,  I'll  help  you 
in.  Let  us  show  these  lords  of  creation  that 
they  are  of  not  quite  so  great  importance  as  they 
are  pleased  to  imagine." 

She  ran  gayly  out,  -Amy  following  a  little 
inore  slowly,  with  a  regretful  good-bye  to  the  two 
who  were  to  remain  at  home. 

The  lads  hurried  after,  in  season  to  forestall 
Eila  in  assisting  Amy  into  the  vehicle,  which 
the  former  had  hastily  entered  unaided,  before 
they  could  reach  it. 

Mary  lingered  behind  a  moment  to  say  to  Elsie 
and  Violet  that  she  did  not  in  the  least  care  to 
go,  indeed  would  prefer  to  stay  with  them. 

"No,  no,  cousin  Mary,"  they  both  said,  "we 
would  not  have  you  miss  the  sport,  or  deprive 
the  rest  of  the  pleasure  of  your  society." 

"  Besides,"  added  Violet,  with  a  merry  look 
and  smile,  "  if  you  were  here  I  know  very  well 
I  should  miss  the  opportunity  to  distinguish 
myself  as  a  capable  and  accomplished  cook.  So 
away  with  you,  fair  lady  !  See,  the  lads  are 
waiting  to  hand  you  into  the  carriage. " 

"  Good-bye  then,  but  don't  attempt  an  clabo 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  053 

rate  dinner,"  Mary  returned,  as  she  hastened 
away. 

The  sisters  stood  on  the  little  poroh  watching 
the  departure  till  the  carriage  was  out  of  sight. 

Just  then  a  boy  carrying  a  large  basket  open- 
ed the  gate  and  came  in. 

"  That's  right,  you  are  just  in  good  time," 
was  Vi's  greeting.  "Please  carry  them  into 
the  kitchen.  Have  you  brought  all  I  ordered?" 

"  Yes'm;  potatoes,  corn,  beans,  tomats,  cab- 
bage, lettuce,  and  young  beets.  All  right  fresh 
and  nice." 

Violet  paid  him  and  he  left. 

"  There,  I  shall  have  a  sufficient  variety  of 
vegetables,"  she  remarked,  viewing  her  purchase 
with  satisfaction. 

"  0  Vi,"  sighed  Elsie,  with  a  look  of  appre- 
hension. "  do  you  in  the  least  know  what  you 
are  about  ?" 

"Why  of  course,  you  dear  old  goosie!  haven't 
I  watched  Cousin  Mary's  cooking  operations  for 
over  two  weeks  ?  Oh  I  assure  you  I'm  going  to 
have  a  fine  dinner  !  There's  a  chicken  all  ready 
for  the  oven — cousin  showed  me  how  to  make 
the  stuffing  and  all  that.  I've  engaged  fresh  fish 
and  oysters — they'll  be  coming  in  directly.  I 
shall  make  an  oyster  pie  and  broil  the  fish.  I 
mean  to  make  a  boiled  pudding  and  sauce  for 
dessert,  and  have  bought  nuts,  raisins  and  al- 
monds, oranges,  bananas  and  candies  besides, 
and  engaged  ice  cream  and  cake." 


284  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Your  bill  of  fair  sounds  very  good,  but  what 
if  you  should  fail  in  the  cooking  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  such  word  as  fail  for  me  !"  laughed 
Vi.  "  IVe  screwed  my  courage  to  the  sticking 
place,  and  don't  intend  to  fail.  Now  we  must 
don  our  big  aprons  and  to  work  ;  you'll  help  me 
with  the  vegetables,  I  know." 

"  Willingly,  if  you'll  show  me  how." 

Violet  felt  very  wise  and  important  as  she 
gave  her  older  sister  the  requested  instruction, 
then  went  bustling  about  making  her  pudding 
and  pastry  :  for  she  decided  to  add  tarts  to  her 
bill  of  fare,  and  the  oyster  pie  must  have  a  very 
nice  crust. 

But  as  she  proceeded  with  her  preparations 
she  discovered  that  her  knowledge  was  deficient 
in  regard  to  many  of  the  details  of  the  business 
in  hand;  she  did  not  know  exactly  how  much 
time  to  allow  for  the  cooking  of  each  dish — , 
how  long  it  would  take  the  chicken  to  roast, 
pie  and  tarts  to  bake,  pudding  and  vegetables 
to  boil. 

She  grew  anxious  and  nervous  in  her  per- 
plexity; there  was  no  one  to  give  her  the  needed 
information,  the  cookery  books  did  not  supply 
it,  and  in  sheer  desperation  she  filled  her  oven, 
her  pots  and  kettles  as  fast  as  possible,  saying 
to  Elsie  it  would  surely  be  better  to  have  food 
a  little  overdone  than  not  sufficiently  cooked. 

It  proved  an  unfortunate  decision,  especially 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  285 

as  the  fishing  party  were  an  hour  later  in  re- 
turning than  had  been  expected. 

Poor  Violet  was  too  much  mortified  to  eat 
when  she  discovered  that  there  was  no  sweet- 
ness left  in  the  corn,  that  her  potatoes  were 
water-soaked,  her  oysters  tough  as  leather,  the 
chicken  scorched  and  very  much  overdone,  the 
fish  burnt  almost  to  a  cinder,  and — oh  worst 
of  all  !  cooked  with  the  scales  on.  She  had  for- 
gotten they  had  any. 

Her  friends  all  comforted  her,  however,  tak- 
ing the  blame  on  themselves.  "  If  they  had  not 
been  so  late,  things  would  not  have  been  so 
overdone  ;  it  was  their  fault.  And  the  lettuce, 
the  cold-slaw,  and  bread  and  butter  were  all 
very  nice.  The  tarts  too." 

But  as  soon  as  she  tasted  them  Violet  knew 
she  had  forgotten  the  salt  in  her  crust  and  that 
it  was  tough  compared  to  her  Cousin  Mary's. 

And  then  the  pudding !  oh  why  did  it  turn 
out  so  heavy  ?  Ah,  she  had  made  it  with  sour 
milk  and  put  in  no  soda. 

"  Oh  what  shall  I  do  ?"  she  said  despairingly 
to  Mary,  who  was  helping  her  to  dish  it  up. 
"There's  hardly  anything  fit  to  eat,  and  I 
know  you  are  all  very  hungry." 

"  Indeed,  dear  little  coz,  there  is  a  great  deal 
that's  fit  to  eat,"  Mary  said,  glancing  toward 
the  table  on  which  the  last  course  was  set  out 
- — except  the  ice  cream,  which  had  not  yet  been 


286  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Yes,  those  are  nice,  but  the  substantiate  of 
the  meal — just  what  are  most  needed — are  all 
spoiled.  Oh  what's  that?"  with  a  sudden 
change  of  tone  as  a  man  bearing  a  large  hamper 
appeared  at  the  open  door  ;  "  something  from 
mamma,  I  do  believe." 

"Yes,"  said  Edward,  stepping  in  after  the 
man  as  the  latter  set  the  hamper  down  ;  "  and 
as  its  more  than  an  hour  past  dinner  time,  I 
suppose  its  very  well  I  didn't  come  empty 
handed." 

"  0  Ned,  Ned,  you  dear,  good  fellow !" 
cried  Violet,  springing  to  his  side  and  throwing 
her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Yes,  you  may  well  say  that !"  he  returned, 
laughing,  as  he  gave  her  a  kiss,  then  put  her 
aside  and  stooped  to  open  the  basket,  "  for  I 
told  mother  what  you  were  attempting  to-day, 
and  she  said  '  The  poor,  dear  child  !  she  will 
surely  fail,  so  I'll  send  some  provisions  with  you 
when  you  go.'  And  here  they  are,  all  of  the 
best,  of  course,  for  mamma  never  does  anything 
by  halves,"  he  added,  beginning  to  hand  out 
the  viands — a  pair  of  cold  roast  fowls,  a  boiled 
tongue,  pickles,  jellies,  pies  and  cakes  in  variety, 
— Mary  and  Vi  receiving  them  with  exclamations 
of  satisfaction,  delight  and  thankfulness  which 
quickly  brought  the  others  upon  the  scene,  just 
as  the  bearer  of  the  hamper,  who  had  gone  out 
on  setting  it  down,  re-entered  with  a  basket  of 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  33? 

of  beautiful,  luscious  looking  peaches  and 
grapes. 

"  Hello !"  exclaimed  Charlie,  in  high  glee, 
"what's  all  this  ?  a  second  dinner  ?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Violet,  "my  dear,  good 
mother's  atonement  for  her  conceited  daugh- 
ter's failure." 

"  No,  no,  we  don't  call  it  a  failure,  nor  the 
cook  conceited,"  cried  a  chorus  of  voices ;  "  some 
things  are  very  nice,  and  others  were  spoiled  by 
our  fault  in  coming  home  so  late." 

"  Well,  please  come  back  to  the  table  and 
we'll  begin  again,"  said  Violet,  carrying  the 
fowls  into  the  dining-room,  Mary  following 
with  the  tongue,  Elsie  and  Ella  with  other  edi- 
bles. 

"Please,  some  of  you,  help  me  carry  away 
dinner  number  one,  to  make  room  for  dinner 
number  two,"  said  Vi,  replacing  the  dish  con- 
taining her  unfortunate  chicken  with  the  one  on 
which  she  had  put  the  new  arrivals. 

Upon  that  everybody  seized  one  or  more  of 
the  dishes  and  hurried  back  to  the  kitchen;  and 
so  with  a  great  rushing  to  and  fro  and  amid 
much  laughter  and  many  merry  jests  they  re- 
spread  the  board. 

Violet's  spirits  and  appetite  had  returned,  and 
she  joined  the  others  in  making  a  hearty  meal. 

The  next  morning  was  cloudy  and  cool  for 
the  season.  All  agreed  it  was  just  the  day  for 


288  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD 

a  long  stroll  inland,  and  shortly  after  breakfast 
they  set  out  in  a  body — Mary,  Ella  and  Edward 
leading  the  van,  Donald  and  Edward's  two  sis- 
ters coming  next,  Charlie  and  Amy  bringing  up 
the  rear. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  tacit  understanding 
that  those  two  were  always  to  be  together  and  no 
remark  was  ever  made  about  it,  but  Charlie  al- 
ways quietly  took  possession  of  the  fragile  little 
lady,  just  as  if  he  had  entered  into  bonds  to  be 
her  care-taker  and  entertainer,  accommodating 
his  pace  to  hers,  which  was  so  much  slower  than 
that  most  natural  to  the  others  that  they  often 
unintentionally  left  her  far  behind. 

They  presently  met  Mrs.  Perkins,  Fred  and 
Susie,  who  were  also  starting  out  for  a  walk,  and 
the  two  parties  joined  their  forces. 

They  passed  through  the  village,  and  sat  down 
JOT  a  little  while  on  some  rustic  benches  under 
the  trees  on  the  river  bank,  to  rest  and  enjoy 
the  pleasing  prospect. 

The  village  lay  behind  them;  before,  green 
slopes  dotted  here  and  there  with  trees  stand- 
ing singly  or  in  groups;  then  the  sparkling 
river,  to  the  left,  beyond  the  bridge,  widening 
into  a  lake-like  expanse,  to  the  right  pouring  its 
•waters  into  the  great  ocean,  on  whose  broad 
bosom  many  ships,  steamers  and  smaller  craft 
could  be  seen,  some  near,  others  far  away  in 
the  distance. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  289 

The  surface  of  the  river  too  was  enlivened  by 
a  number  of  small  sail-boats  slowly  moving 
before  the  wind,  and  skiffs  that  darted  hither 
and  thither.  On  the  further  bank  the  scene 
was  diversified  by  woods  and  fields,  with  here 
and  there  a  farm-house,  then  the  sandy  beach 
bordering  the  wide  blue  sea. 

"Are  you  quite  tired  out,  Amy?"  Charlie 
asked  after  a  little. 

"Oh  no,  I'm  quite  rested,"  she  answered 
gayly,  "  and  feel  able  to  walk  a  good  deal  farther. 
I  am  really  surprised  to  find  how  strong  and 
well  I  am." 

"  The  sea-shore's  the  place  for  you  evidently," 
he  said;  then  as  she  sprang  up  nimbly  to  join 
the  others  as  they  rose  and  moved  on  again, 
"  But  I  don't  know  that  it  would  be  best  to 
keep  you  here  too  long;  you  might  grow  so 
strong  as  to  feel  capable  of  dispensing  with  any 
help  from  other  folks." 

"Which  would  be  very  delightful  indeed,'* 
she  returned  with  an  arch  look  and  smile  as  she 
accepted  his  offered  arm. 

They  hastened  on  after  the  rest  of  their  party, 
over  a  bridge  and  along  the  roadside  for  some 
distance,  then  they  all  struck  into  a  narrow 
footpath  on  the  farther  side  of  the  fence,  the 
young  men  letting  down  the  bars  to  give  the 
ladies  easy  ingress,  and  followed  that  through  a 
bit  of  woods,  crossing  a  little  stream  by  a  bro- 


290  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

ken  bridge,  where  again  the  lads  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  giving  assistance  to  their  companions  of 
the  weaker  sex ;  then  across  some  cornfields ; 
making  a  circuit  that  brought  them  back  to  the 
river. 

The  path  now  ran  along  its  bank,  and  still 
pursuing  it  they  came  at  length  to  a  little  inlet 
where  was  neither  bridge  nor  boat. 

Therfr"they  stopped  and  held  a  consultation. 
No  one  wanted  to  go  back  by  the  way  they  had 
come,  it  was  too  long  and  roundabout ;  if  they 
could  but  cross  this  inlet  they  could  soon  reach 
one  of  the  life-saving  stations  on  the  other  side, 
and  there  probably  find  some  one  who  would 
carry  them  across  the  river  in  a  boat,  when  a 
short  walk  along  the  beach  would  take  them  to 
their  temporary  homes. 

"  The  water  is  not  deep,  I  think,"  said  Don- 
ald. "  I  propose  that  we  lads  strip  off  boots  and 
stockings,  wade  through  and  carry  the  ladies 
over.  I  will  wade  across  first  and  try  its  depth." 

He  did  so,  spite  of  some  protests  from  the 
more  timid  of  the  ladies,  and  found  it  hardly 
knee-deep.  All  then  agreed  to  his  proposition. 

"  Edward  and  I  will  make  a  chair  by  clasping 
hands,"  he  said  gayly,  "  and  Fred  and  Charlie 
can  do  likewise  if  they  will,  and  we  will  divide 
the  honor  of  carrying  the  ladies  over  dryshod." 

Donald  had  a  purpose  in  selecting  Edward 
as  his  companion  and  helper  in  the  undertaking; 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  %Q\ 

feeling  pretty  certain  that  Elsie  and  Violet 
would  choose  to  be  carried  by  their  brother, 
which  they  did. 

"I  see  through  you,  young  man,"  Charlie 
said  to  Donald  in  a  laughing  aside  while  mak- 
ing ready  for  the  trip,  "but  I  don't  care  very 
much,  if  you  leave  Miss  Fletcher  for  me." 

"All  right,"  returned  Donald,  "I  intended 
to,  for  I  see  which  way  the  wind  blows.  She's 
light  too,  my  lad,  and  will  be  the  better  suited  to 
your  strength." 

"  Strength,  man!  I'm  as  able  to  lift  and  carry 
as  Lieutenant  Keith,  if  I'm  not  greatly  mis- 
taken,"  Charlie  said  with  pretended  wrath, 
"  and  to  prove  it  I  speak  for  the  carrying  of 
Mrs.  Perkins  and  Miss  Neff,  who  must  be  a  trifle 
heavier  than  any  of  the  other  ladies." 

"All  right;  but  fortunately  there  isn't  one  in 
the  party  heavy  enough  to  be  any  great  burden 
to  either  of  us." 

So  amid  a  good  deal  of  mirth  and  laugh- 
ter and  some  timidity  and  shrinking  on  the 
part  of  the  younger  girls,  the  short  journey  was 
made,  and  that  without  mishap  or  loss. 

Then  a  short,  though  toilsome  walk  through 
the  soft  yielding  sand  brought  them  to  the 
life-saving  station,  a  small  two-story  frame  build- 
ing standing  high  on  the  sandy  beach,  the  rest- 
less billows  of  old  ocean  tossing  and  tumbling 
not  many  rods  away. 


392  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD 

They  were  courteously  treated  by  the  brave 
fellows  who  make  this  their  abode  during  eight 
months  of  the  year,  were  shown  the  room  on 
the  lower  floor  where  they  cook  and  eat,  the  tr^o 
above  where  they  sleep,  and  also  all  the  appara- 
tus for  saving  the  shipwrecked  and  any  others 
who  may  be  in  danger  of  drowning  within  reach 
of  their  aid. 

Our  friends  were  all  greatly  interested  in 
looking  at  these  things — the  colored  lamps  and 
flags  for  signalling,  the  life-boat,  the  breeches- 
buoy  and  the  life-car — this  last  especially:  it 
was  of  metal,  shaped  like  a  row-boat,  but  covered 
in  over  the  top,  except  a  square  opening  large 
enough  to  admit  one  passenger  at  a  time,  and 
having  a  sliding  door,  the  closing  of  which, 
after  the  passengers  are  in,  makes  the  car  com- 
pletely water-tight. 

"  How  many  will  it  hold  ?"  asked  Edward. 

"  Six  or  seven  grown  folks,  if  they  are  not 
very  large  sized." 

"  Oh,  I  should  think  they  would  smother  P 
cried  Violet. 

"It  is  only  about  three  or  four  minutes 
they'd  have  to  stay  in  it,"  said  the  exhibitor. 

Then  he  showed  them  the  thick,  strong  rope 
or  hawser  on  which  it  runs,  and  the  mortar  by 
means  of  which  they  send  a  line  to  the  dis- 
tressed vessel  with  a  tally-board  attached  on 
Which  are  printed  directions — English  on  one 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  293 

aide,  French  on  the  other — f  or  the  proper  secur- 
ing of  the  hawser  to  the  wreck. 

"  The  other  end  is  made  fast  on  shore,  I  sup- 
pose ?"  said  Amy  inquiringly. 

"Yes,  Miss." 

"  And  when  they  have  made  their  end  fast 
and  got  into  the  car — " 

"  Then  we  pull  'em  ashore." 

"  Not  a  particularly  pleasant  ride  to  take,  I 
imagine,"  remarked  Donald. 

"  Not  so  very  sir ;  she's  apt  to  be  tossed  about 
pretty  roughly  by  the  big  waves ;  turn  over 
several  times,  likerthan  not." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Amy,  with  a  shudder,  "I  think 
I'd  almost  rather  drown." 

"No,  Miss,"  said  the  man,  " I  guess  you'd 
find  even  that  better'n  drowning." 

Having  fully  satisfied  their  curiosity,  our 
friends  inquired  if  there  was  anybody  about 
there  who  would  take  them  across  the  river. 

"Yes,  sir,  I'll  row  you  across,  half  of  you  at  a 
time,"  answered  the  man,  addressing  Donald, 
who  had  acted  as  spokesman  for  the  party. 
"  All  of  you  at  once  would  be  too  big  a  load  for 
the  boat." 

It  was  but  a  short  walk  to  the  river,  a  few 
minutes'  row  across  it,  and  soon  they  were  all  on 
the  farther  side  and  walking  along  the  beach  to- 
ward home. 


294  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Dinner  time  !"  exclaimed  Ella,  looking  at 
her  watch.  "  What's  to  be  done  about  it  ?" 

Her  question  seemed  to  be  addressed  to 
Mary. 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  was  the  demure  reply.  "  It's 
none  of  my  concern  to-day.  Didn't  you  hear 
the  agreement  between  Charlie  and  Don  yester- 
day?'* 

"There!  Mr.  Charles  Perrine,  see  the  scrape 
you  have  got  yourself  and  me  into  !"  exclaimed 
Donald  with  a  perplexed  and  rueful  look. 

"What  in  the  world  are  we  to  do  !"  cried 
Charlie,  stopping  short  with  his  hand  upon  the 
gate  and  turning  so  as  to  face  the  others. 

"  Get  in  out  of  the  sun  for  the  first  thing," 
replied  his  cousin. 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course  !"  and  he  stepped  back 
and  held  the  gate  open  for  the  ladies  to  pass 
in. 

"  We  are  all  hungry  as  bears,!  suppose,"  he  said 
when  they  were  fairly  in  the  house.  "  Come, 
Mary,  be  good  and  tell  us  what  to  do.  Shall  we 
go  to  one  of  the  hotels?" 

"  No,  make  the  fire,  set  the  table,  and  grind 
some  coffee,"  she  answered,  laughing.  "I  fore-, 
saw  that  I'd  have  to  come  to  the  rescue,  and  am 
prepared.  We'll  have  coffee,  stewed  oysters, 
eold  fowl  left  from  yesterday,  plenty  of  good 
bread,  rolls  and  butter,  fruits  and  cake,  and  it 
won't  take  many  minutes  to  get  it  ready." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  '  295 

"  Mary,  you're  a  jewel !"  Charlie  returned, 
catching  her  about  the  waist  and  kissing  her  on 
both  cheeks. 

"  Begone,  you  impertinent  fellow !"  she  said 
laughingly  as  she  released  herself  and  pushed 
him  away.  "Even  a  cousin  shouldn't  take 
such  liberties-" 


CHAPTEK  XXIV. 

*•  O  pilot !  'tis  a  fearful  night, 
There's  danger  on  the  deep." 

-Bayly. 

ELSIE  had  gone  home,  and  in  a  few  days  our 
little  party  would  break  up  entirely,  Ella  and 
Amy  return  to  their  homes,  Mary,  Donald  and 
Charlie  go  with  Edward  and  Violet  to  their 
mother's  cottage  to  spend  some  time  as  Mrs. 
Travilla's  guests. 

The  Allisons  had  gone,  and  there  was  now 
abundance  of  room,  though  the  Conlys,  mother 
and  daughter,  still  lingered,  loath  to  leave  the 
delightful  sea  breezes. 

The  quiet  life  led  under  her  cousin  Elsie's 
roof  was  not  much  to  Virginia's  taste,  but  noth- 
ing better  had  offered  as  yet. 

Breakfast  was  over,  the  morning  tasks  the 
girls  had  set  themselves  were  all  done,  and  the 
whole  four  came  trooping  out  upon  the  porch 
where  the  three  lads  were  standing  apparently 
very  intent  upon  some  object  out  at  sea. 

Edward  was  looking  through  a  spy-glass, 
which  he  handed  to  Donald  just  as  the  girls 
joined  them,  saying,  "  See  if  you  can  make  out 
the  name." 


ELSIE' 8  WIDOWHOOD.  297 

"  Not  quite,  but  she  is  certainly  a  yacht,"  was 
Donald's  reply,  after  a  moment's  steady  gaze  at 
one  of  the  many  vessels  within  sight ;  for  they 
had  counted  more  than  forty  of  various  sorts  and 
sizes,  some  outward  bound,  others  coming  in. 
The  one  which  so  excited  their  interest  was 
drawing  nearer. 

"Let  me  look,"  said  Mary.  "I  have  the 
reputation  of  being  very  far-sighted." 

Donald  handed  her  the  glass  and  pointed  out 
the  vessel. 

She  sighted  it,  and  in  another  moment  said, 
"Yes,  I  can  read  tHe  name — 'The  Curlew.'" 

"Ah,  ha!"  cried  Edward  in  a  very  pleased 
tone,  te  I  was  correct  ;  it  is  Will  Tallis's 
yacht." 

"  And  really  it  looks  as  if  he  meant  to  call  at 
Ocean  Beach,"   added   Charlie.     "Must  have 
heard,  Ned,  that  you  and  I  are  here." 
• "  Doubtless,"  laughed  Edward. 

"kWill  Tallis?"  repeated  Violet  inquiringly. 
"  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours,  Edward  ?" 

"  Why,  yes  ;  have  you  never  heard  me  speak 
of  him?  He's  a  splendid  fellow,  one  whom  I 
should  very  willingly  introduce  to  my  mother 
and  sisters." 

"  And  has  a  yacht  of  his  own  ?" 

"  Yes ;  he's  very  rich,  and  delights  in  being 
on  the  sea.  Inherits  the  taste,  I  suppose  ;  his 
father  was  a  sea-captain.  He  told  us— Charlie 


298  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

and  me — that  he  meant  to  go  yachting  this  sea. 
son,  and  wished  he  could  persuade  us  to  go  with 
him." 

"And  I,  for  one,  should  like  nothing  better," 
said  Charlie.  "  Why,  Ned,  he  is  coming  ashore  ! 
See,  they  hare  dropped  anchor  and  are  putting 
off  from  the  yacht  in  a  boat !  Yes,  here  they 
come,  pulling  straight  for  this  beach.  "Where's 
my  hat?  Let's  run  down,  boys,  and  meet  them 
as  they  land  !"  cried  the  lad,  greatly  excited. 

Amy  had  found  his  hat  and  silently  handed 
it  to  him.  Edward  and  Donald  seized  theirs, 
and  all  three  rushed  to  the  beach. 

"Come,  girls,"  said  Ella,  " let  us  go  too;  why 
should  we  miss  the  fun,  if  there  is  to  be  any?" 

They  put  on  their  hats,  took  their  sun-um- 
brellas, and  started.  They  however  went  only 
as  far  as  to  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  Colorado 
House — so  many  people  were  thronging  the 
beach  to  witness  the  landing,  which  was  now 
evidently  to  take  place  just  below  there,  and  our 
modest,  refined  young  ladies  did  not  like  to  be 
in  a  crowd. 

Mrs.  Perkins  and  Susie  joined  them.  Fred 
was  away;  had  gone  over  to  New  York,  expect- 
ing to  return  by  the  evening  train. 

"  Not  much  to  be  seen  by  us  but  the  waves 
and  the  crowd,"  remarked  Ella,  a  little  impa- 
tiently. "  Nor  much  to  be  heard  but  the  mur- 
mur of  their  voices." 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  299 

"They  must  have  landed,  I  think,''  Mrs. 
Perkins  said.  "  Yes,  here  they  come;  our  lads, 
I  mean,  and  a  stranger  with  them.  A  very  nice 
looking  fellow  he  is,  too." 
;  The  four  young  men  drew  near,  and  Edward 
.introduced  "My  friend,  Mr.  Tallis,"  to  the 
ladies. 

'  He  was  very  gentlemanly  in  appearance,  and 
had  a  pleasant,  open  countenance,  a  cordial, 
hearty  manner  as  he  shook  hands  with  the  ma- 
tronly married  lady  and  lifted  his  hat  to  the 
younger  ones. 

"  I  am  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
ladies,"  he  said,  with  a  genial  smile  and  an  ad- 
miring glance  at  Violet,  "  and  have  come  to  ask 
the  pleasure  of  your  company  on  board  my  yacht. 
I  am  bound  for  Boston  and  the  coasts  of  New 
Hampshire  and  Maine — a  short  sea- voyage  which 
I  trust  you  will  find  enjoyable  if  I  can  but  per- 
suade you  to  try  it." 

Mrs.  Perkins  declined,  with  thanks,  for  her- 
gelf  and  Susie.  Violet  did  likewise.  The  other 
three  hesitated,  but  finally  yielded  to  the  per- 
suasions of  the  lads. 

"  0  Edward,  you  will  not  go,  surely?"  whis- 
pered Violet,  drawing  her  brother  aside. 

"And  why  not?"  he  returned  with  some  im- 
patience. 

"  Because  you  haven't  mamma's  consent,  ol 
grandpa's  either." 


300  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

"No,  but  that's  only  because  they  are  not 
here  to  give  it.  I'm  sure  there's  nothing  objec- 
tionable. Will's  the  very  sort  of  fellow  they 
would  approve,  the  vessel  is  new  and  strong,  and 
the  captain  and  crew  understand  their  busi- 
ness. 

"But  a  storm  might  come  up." 

"Why,  Vi,  how  silly!  there's  no  appearance 
of  a  storm,  and  we  are  not  intending  to  go  far 
out  to  sea.  Besides,  you  might  just  as  well 
bring  that  objection  to  any  trip  by  sea." 

"Yes;  but  if  you  had  mamma's  consent  it 
would  be  different." 

"I  don't  see  that.  I'd  ask  it,  of  course,  if  I 
could — and  be  sure  to  get  it,  too,  I  think — but 
there  isn't  time;  they  don't  want  to  lose  this  fa- 
vorable wind  and  fine  weather,  and  will  be  off 
again  within  an  hour.  Come,  make  up  your 
mind  to  go  with  us:  I  want  you  along,  for  I 
think  it  will  be  a  delightful  little  voyage." 

"  Thank  you,  brother,  but  I  don't  wish  to  go, 
and  couldn't  enjoy  it  if  I  went  without  mamma's 
knowledge  and  consent:  and  I  do  wish  you  would 
not  go." 

"  Vi,  I  never  knew  you  so  absurd  and  unrea- 
sonable !  But  if  you  will  not  go  along,  perhaps 
I  ought  to  stay  to  take  care  of  you.  I  had  not 
thought  of '  that  before.  Mother  left  you  in  my 
charge,  but  I  am  sure  she  would  not  want  me  to 
7~se  this  pleasure,  and  it  strikes  me  as  a  triflo 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  3Q1 

selfish  in  you  to  make  it  necessary  for  me  to  do 
so." 

"I  don't  want  yon  to  stay  on  my  account,"1* 
she  said,  tears  springing  to  her  eyea,  "and  I 
don't  think  you  need.     I  can  go  home  this  af- 
ternoon by  the  cars.     Probably  mamma  would 
not  mind  my  taking  so  short  a  ride  alone/' 

"  I  don't  know:  but  I  should  enjoy  the  voyage 
far  more  with  you  along." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Mrs.  Perkins, 
overhearing  a  part  of  the  talk.  "  I  will  take 
charge  of  your  sister,  Mr.  Travilla,  if  she  prefers 
to  stay  behind." 

"  Thank  you,"  Edward  responded  with  bright- 
ening countenance.  "But — Vi,  you  will  not 
care  to  bathe  while  we  are  gone?" 

"No,  Ned,  I  shall  not  go  in  without  you,  as 
mamma  desired  me  not." 

"  And  you  are  willing  for  me  to  go?" 

"Not  quite;  I  wish  you  wouldn't;  only  don't 
stay  to  take  care  of  me." 

Edward  looked  a  good  deal  vexed  and  an- 
noyed. 

"Mrs.  Perkins,"  he  said,  turning  to  her,  "if 
Fred  were  here,  wouM  you  object  to  his  go- 
ing?" 

"No,  not  at  all.  I  should  leave  him  to  fol- 
low his  own  inclination.  'But,"  as  Edward 
turned  triumphantly  to  Violet,  "  I  am  not  mean- 
ing to  encourage  you  to  go,  if  your  sister  thinks 


302  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

your  mother  might  object:  all  mothers  do  not 
see  alike,  you  know." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  imagine  I  am  as  compe- 
tent a  judge  of  that  as  Violet  is.  I  feel  well- 
nigh  certain  that  she  would  bid  me  go  and  en- 
joy myself.  She's  not  one  of  the  fussy  kind  of 
mothers  who  are  afraid  to  let  their  children  stir 
out  of  their  sight." 

"  Then  you  will  go?"  said  Mr.  Tallis. 

"Yes, "Ed ward  answered,  resolutely  avoiding 
Violet's  pleading  looks. 

"I  wish  we  could  persuade  your  sister,"  Mr. 
Tallis  said,  turning  to  her.  "Are  you  timid 
about  venturing  on  the  sea,  Miss  Tra villa?" 

"  Xot  particularly,"  she  said,  coloring  slightly. 

"Then  do  come  with  us  !  the  more  the  mer- 
rier, you  know,  and  I  should  be  so  happy.  I 
do  not  feel  quite  comfortable  to  carry  off  all  the 
rest  of  your  party  and  leave  you  alone." 

The  girls  joined  their  entreaties  to  his,  but 
Violet  was  firm  in  her  resolution  to  remain  on 
shore. 

Then  Mary  offered  to  stay  with  her,  but  as 
Violet  felt  convinced  that  it  would  involve  a  sac- 
rifice on  her  cousin's  part,  she  would  not  con- 
sent. 

They  now  all  hastened  back  to  the  cottage  to 
make  such  preparations  as  might  be  needful.  It 
was  not  much  to  any  of  them,  as  they  expected 
to  return  the  next  day  or  the  one  following. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  303 

"Edward,  can  I  be  of  any  assistance  to  you?" 
Violet  asked,  going  to  the  door  of  his  room. 

"  Yes,  if  you  like  to  pack  this  valise.  Maybe 
you  would  do  it  better  than  I.  I'm  alone,  so 
come  in." 

Violet  accepted  the  invitation,  and  did  the 
little  service  quite  to  his  satisfaction. 

"You  are  a  nice,  handy  girl,  if  I  do  say  it 
that  shouldn't,"  he  remarked  laughingly.  "  But 
what's  the  matter?"  as  he  saw  that  her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

"  0  Edward,  don't  go  away  vexed  with  me  !" 
she  exclaimed,  putting  an  arm  around  his  neck. 
"Suppose  a  storm  should  come  up,  and — and 
we  should  never  see  each  other  again." 

The  last  words  came  with  an  irrepressible 
burst  of  tears  and  sobs.  The  loving  young  heart 
was  sore  from  recent  bereavement,  and  ready  to 
fear  for  all  its  dear  ones. 

"  Come,  don't  fret  about  possibilities,"  he 
said,  kindly.  "I'm  not  vexed  now,  and  you 
must  forgive  me  for  calling  you  selfish." 

"You  don't  think  I  am?" 

"  No,  indeed!  but  just  the  darlingest  little  sis- 
ter ever  a  fellow  had.  I  shouldn't  like — if  any- 
thing should  happen — to  have  you  remember 
that  as  one  of  tlie  last  things  I  had  said  to  you. 
No,  I  was  the  selfish  one.  Now  good-bye,  and 
don't  worry  about  me,"  he  said,  holding  her 
close,  and  kissing  her  several  times;  "you  know, 


304  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Vi  dear,  that  we  are  under  the  same  protecting 
care  on  sea  and  on  land." 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  but  with  some  hesita- 
tion, and  drawing  a  deep  sigh. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "you  doubt  whether  I  shall 
be  taken  care  of  because  I'm  going  without  per- 
mission. Are  you  not  forgetting  that  we  have 
always  been  trained  to  think  and  decide  for  our- 
selves in  all  cases  where  it  is  right  and  proper 
for  us  to  do  so?  And  why  should  I  need  per- 
mission to  go  on  the  sea  in  a  yacht  any  more 
than  in  a  fishing-boat?  Can  you  answer  me 
that?"  he  concluded,  half  kughingly. 

"No,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  smile,  "and  I 
daresay  you  are  in  the  right  about  it." 

"  Then  you  won't  change  your  mind  ('tis  a  wo- 
man's privilege,  you  know)  and  go  along?  It's 
not  yet  too  late." 

"No,  thank  you;  I  do  not  care  to  claim  all 
the  woman's  privileges  yet,"  she  answered  with 
playful  look  and  tone. 

"  Hello,  Ned!  'most  ready?"  shouted  Charlie 
from  below.  "  Time's  about  up." 

They  went  down  at  once. 

The  other  girls  were  on  the  porch  quite 
ready  to  start,  Donald  standing  with  them. 
Mrs.  Perkins  and  Susie  could  be  descried  down 
on  the  beach  waiting  to  see  them  off;  Mr.  Tallis 
too,  chatting  with  the  ladies. 

The  young  men  gathered  up  the  ladies'  satch' 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  305 

els  and  their  own.  Charlie  offered  his  arm  to 
Amy,  but  she  declined  it  with  a  laughing  assur- 
ance that  she  was  now  strong  enough  to  walk 
without  support. 

"Miss  Neff,"  he  sighed,  turning  to  Ella, 
"I've  lost  my  situation:  will  you?" 

"  And  you  and  the  rest  of  us  will,  maybe,  lose 
something  else  if  we  don't  hurry,"  she  answered 
lightly.  "  *  Time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man/  so 
let  us  make  haste  before  they  fail  us." 

These  three  were  very  merry,  the  other  three 
sober  almost  to  absolute  quietness  as  they  made 
their  way  to  the  waiting  boat. 

Edward  kissed  his  sister  again  as  he  was  about 
to  step  into  it,  and  she  clung  to  his  neck  for  a 
moment  whispering.  "Ah,  I  shall  pray  that  you 
may  come  back  safely!" 

"  Don't  borrow  trouble,  you  dear  little  goose," 
he  said,  as  he  let  her  go. 

At  the  last  moment  it  appeared  that  Donald 
was  not  going. 

There  were  various  exclamations  of  surprise 
and  disappointment  from  the  voyagers  when  his 
purpose  to  remain  behind  became  apparent, 
"  They  had  understood  he  was  going — why  did 
he  change  his  mind?" 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  quiet  smile,  "  a  man 
is  not  bound  to  give  all  his  reasons,  but  the 
fact  is  Mrs.  Perkins  has  held  out  strong  induce' 
ments  to  me  to  stav  where  I  am." 


306  ELSIES    WIDOWHOOD. 

"  And  lie  couldn't  be  in  better  company,  could 
he?"  was  her  laughing  addition. 

Violet  was  as  much  taken  by  surprise  as  the 
others,  but  in  her  secret  heart  not  at  all  sorry 
— "  It  would  be  so  much  less  lonely  with  Cousin 
Donald  there." 

They  stood  on  the  beach,  waving  their  hand- 
kerchiefs to  their  departing  friends  until  thet 
latter  had  reached  the  deck  of  the  yacht.  Nor 
did  they  cease  to  watch  the  vessel  so  long  as  the 
smallest  portion  of  it  was  visible,  as  it  faded 
quite  out  of  sight. 

Violet  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  indulge  in 
a  hearty  cry,  but  putting  a  determined  restraint 
upon  herself,  chatted  cheerfully  instead.  Yet 
her  friends  perceived  her  depression  and  exerted 
themselves  for  her  entertainment. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  Donald  said,  with  a  glance 
at  Violet,  but  addressing  Mrs.  Perkins,  as  they 
went  into  a  summer  house  near  by  and  sat 
down,  "that  this  little  lady  has  less  of  inquisi- 
tiveness  than  most  people — (I  will  not  say  most 
of  h'er  sex,  for  I  think  my  own  is  by  no  means 
deficient  in  the  characteristic) — or  she  would 
have  made  some  inquiry  in  regard  to  the  strong 
inducements  I  spoke  of." 

"  What  were  they?"  Violet  asked.  "  You  have 
roused  my  sleeping  curiosity." 

"  Mrs.  Perkins  has  kindly  offered  to  come  to 
the  cottage  and  help  us  with  our  housekeeping 


ELSIE'S    WIDOWHOOD.  307 

while  the  rest  of  the  lads  and  lassies  are  away, 
and  to  bring  Miss  Susie  and  her  brother  with 
her." 

Vi's  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure.  "  It  is 
very  kind,"  she  said.  "Now  I  shall  not  mind 
the  absence  of  the  others  half  so  much  as  I  had 
expected.  I  like  my  little  room  at  the  cottage, 
and  do  not  fancy  living  in  a  crowd  as  I  must 
anywhere  else." 

"Then  you  will  not  go  home?"  Donald  said, 
inquiringly. 

"No;  upon  second  thought  I  have  decided 
against  that  plan,  because  if  I  did  go  I  must 
tell  mamma  how  it  happened,  and  then  if  a 
storm  should  come  up  she  would  be  tortured 
with  useless  anxiety  about  my  brother." 

"  You  are  very  thoughtful  of  your  mother." 

"  As  any  one  would  be  who  had.  such  a  mother 
as  ours,  Cousin  Donald." 

"  She  is  certainly  very  lovely  and  lovable,"  he 
said.  "  Now  about  our  meals,  cousin.  Do  you 
object  to  taking  them  in  a  crowd?  at  one  of  the 
public  houses  here?" 

"No;  I  think  it  the  least  of  two  evils," 
she  answered,  with  a  smile,  "for  I  own  to  being 
somewhat  tired  of  the  fun  of  housework  and 
cooking." 

"  Then  we  will  settle  upon  that  plan,"  Mrs. 
Perkins  said;  "sleep  and  live  at  the  cottage, 
breakfast,  dine  and  sup  elsewhere." 


308  ELBIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

Mrs.  Perkins  was  a  very  good  talker,  full  o: 
general  information,  anecdote  and  entertaining 
reminiscences,  a  delightful  companion  even  to 
one  as  young  as  Violet. 

Time  passed  swiftly  to  them  all.  Life  at  the 
cottage,  because  it  took  them  ont  of  the  crowd, 
was  more  enjoyable  than  that  at  the  hotels, 
which  were  all  very  full  at  this  season,  and  as  a 
consequence,  very  noisy. 

The  cottage  seemed  very  peaceful  and  quiet 
by  contrast.  Indeed  it  was  far  quieter  now  than 
it  had  been  at  any  time  in  the  past  two  or  three 
weeks,  and  Violet,  who  was  beginning  to  weary 
of  so  much  sport  and  mirtlifulness,  really  found 
the  change  agreeable. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  of  the  nert 
day  they  began  to  watch  for  the  reappearance  of 
the  Curlew;  but  night  closed  in  again  without 
the  sight. 

There  was  a  very  fresh  and  stormy  breeze 
from  the  north-east  when  they  went  to  bed.  In 
the  morning  it  blew  almost  a  gale,  and  as 
Violet's  eyes  turned  seaward  her  face  wore  a 
very  anxious  expression. 

"  No  sign  of  the  Curlew  yet,"  she  sighed,  as 
she  stood  at  the  parlor  window  gazing  out  upon 
the  wind-tossed  billows,  plunging,  leaping.,  roar- 
ing, foaming  as  if  in  furious  passion. 

"No;  and  we  may  weD  thank  God  that  we  do 
not,"  said  Donald's  voice  close  at  her  side,  "for 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  309 

the  wind  is  jast  in  the  quarter  to  drive  them 
ashore  :  I  hope  they  are  giving  the  land  a  wide 
berth." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  frightened 
eyes. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  he  said  ;  "let  us  not 
anticipate  evil.  They  may  be  safe  in  port  some- 
where ;  and  at  all  events  we  know  who  rules  ths 
winds  and  waves." 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  in  low  tremulous 
tones,  "the  stormy  wind  fulfils  His  word:  and 
no  real  evil  shall  befall  any  of  His  children." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  ;  then,  "  It  is 
about  breakfast  time  now,"  he  said,  "but  you 
will  not  venture  out  in  this  gale,  surely  ?  Shall 
I  not  have  your  meal  sent  in  to  you  ?" 

"Thank  you,  but  I  prefer  to  make  the  effort 
to  go,"  she  said  ;  "I  want  to  .jet  a  nearer  view 
of  the  sea." 

The  others  felt  the  same  desire,  and  presently 
they  all  started  out  together. 

The  ladies  found  it  as  much  as  they  could  do 
to  keep  their  feet  even  with  the  assistance  of 
their  stronger  companions,  and  the  great,  wind- 
driven  waves  sometimes  swept  across  the  side- 
walk. 

It  was  clearly  dangerous,  if  not  impossible,  to 
approach  nearer  to  the  surging  waters.  The 
gale  was  increasing  every  moment,  the  sky  had 
grown  black  with  clouds  and  distant  mut- 


310  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

terings  of  thunder,  and  an  occasional  lightning 
flash  gave  warning  that  the  worst  was  yet  to 
come.  Evidently  it  would  be  no  day  for  out- 
door exercise  or  amusement. 

Regaining  the  cottage  with  difficulty,  after 
eating  their  breakfast  they  brought  out  books, 
games  and  fancy  work,  resolved  to  make  the 
best  of  circumstances.  Yet  anxious  as  they 
were  for  the  fate  of  their  friends,  the  voyagers 
in  the  yacht,  they  did  little  but  gaze  out  upon 
the  sea,  looking  for  the  Curlew,  but  glad  that 
neither  she  nor  any  other  vessel  was  in  sight. 

The  Curlew's  cabin  was  comfortably,  even 
luxuriously  furnished,  her  larder  well  supplied 
with  all  the  delicacies  of  the  season.  Favored 
with  beautiful  weather  and  propitious  winds, 
our  friends  found  their  first  day  out  from  Ocean 
Beach  most  enjoyable. 

They  passed  the  greater  part  of  their  time 
on  deck,  now  promenading,  now  reclining  in 
extension  chairs,  chatting,  laughing,  singing  to 
the  accompaniment  of  flute  and  violin  ;  the 
one  played  by  Edward,  the  other  by  Charlie. 

The  yacht  was  a  swift  sailer,  her  motion  easy, 
and  until  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  they 
were  scarcely  troubled  with  sea-sickness.  Most 
of  the  time  they  kept  within  sight  of  land, 
touching  at  Boston,  Portsmouth,  and  several 
other  of  the  New  England  seaports,  and  con- 
tinuing on  their  course  until  the  wind  changed, 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  311 

when  they  turned,  with  the  purpose  of  going 
directly  back  to  Ocean  Beach. 

For  some  hours  all  went  well,  a  stiff  breeze 
carrying  them  rapidly  in  the  desired  direction; 
but  it  grew  stronger  and  shifted  to  a  dangerous 
quarter,  while  the  rough  and  unsteady  motion 
of  the  vessel  made  all  the  passengers  so  sea-sick 
that  they  began  to  heartily  wish  themselves  safe 
on  land. 

The  ladies  grew  frightened,  but  the  captain 
assured  them  there  was  as  yet  little  cause  for 
alarm.  He  had  shortened  sail  and  put  out  to 
sea,  fearing  the  dangers  of  the  coast. 

But  the  wind  increased  constantly  until  by 
night  it  was  blowing  a  gale,  and  though  every 
stitch  of  canvas  had  been  taken  in  and  furled, 
they  were  being  driven  landward. 

All  night  long  the  seamen  fought  against  the 
storm,  striving  to  keep  out  to  sea,  but  conscious 
that  their  efforts  were  nearly  futile.  There  was 
little  sleep  that  night  for  passengers  or  crew. 

Morning  broke  amid  a  heavy  storm  of  rain, 
accompanied  by  thunder  and  lightning,  while 
the  wind  seemed  to  have  redoubled  its  fury, 
Wowing  directly  toward  the  shore. 

The  girls,  conscious  that  they  were  in  peril  of 
shipwreck,  had  gone  to  their  berths  without  un- 
dressing. Amy  had  been  very  sick  all  night, 
and  the  other  two,  who  stood  it  better,  had  done 
their  best  to  wait  upon  her,  though  it  was  little 


312  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOh. 

that  could  be  done  for  her  relief,  and  the  pitehv 
ing  and  rolling  of  the  vessel  frequently  threw 
them  with  violence  against  each  other  or  the 
furniture. 

"  It  is  morning,"  said  Ella  at  length;  "  see,  it 
grows  light  in  spite  of  the  storm  ;  and  I  hear 
voices  in  the  saloon.  Shall  I  open  the  door  ?'' 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  "let  us  learn  the  worst, 
and  try  to  be  prepared  for  it." 

The  three  young  men  were  in  the  saloon,  and 
the  girls  joined  them,  Amy  looking  like  the 
ghost  of  herself, 

Charlie,  who  had  stationed  himself  near  her 
loor,  instantly  gave  her  the  support  of  his  arm, 
putting  it  about  her  waist,  while  he  held  fast  tr 
the  furniture  with  the  other  hand,  and  her  head 
dropped  on  his  shoulder. 

With  death  staring  them  in  the  face  they  did 
not  care  for  the  eyes  of  their  companions  in 
peril :  who,  indeed,  were  too  full  of  the  danger 
and  solemnity  of  their  own  position  to  pay  any 
attention  to  the  matter. 

"0  darling,"  Charlie  said  hoarsely,  "if  I 
could  only  put  you  safe  on  shore  !" 

"  Never  mind,"  she  answered,  looking  lov- 
ingly into  his  eyes,  '"'if  we  die,  we  shall  die 
together  ;  and  0  Charlie,  as  we  both  trust  in 
Jesus,  it  will  only  be  going  home  together  to  be 
'forever  with  the  Lord,'  never,  never  to  part 
again  !" 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  313 

"Yes,  there's  comfort  in  that,"  he  said; 
-"and  if  you  are  to  go,  I'm  glad  I'm  here  to  go 
with  you.  But  life  is  sweet,  Amy,  and  we  will 
not  give  up  hope  yet." 

Mary  and  Edward  had  clasped  hands,  each 
gazing  silently  into  the  sad  and  anxious  face 
of  the  other. 

She  was  thinking  of  her  invalid  mother,  her 
father,  brothers  and  sisters,  and  how  they  would 
miss  her  loving  ministrations. 

He  too  thought  of  his  tender  mother  so 
lately  widowed,  her  sorrow  over  the  loss  of  her 
first-born  son  ;  and  of  other  dear  ones,  especial- 
ly Violet,  away  from  all  the  rest,  the  only  one 
conscious  of  his  danger.  He  was  glad  now  that 
she  had  refused  to  come  with  them,  but  he 
knew  the  terrible  anxiety  she  must  feel,  the 
ilmost  heart-breaking  sorrow  his  loss  and  the 
right  of  their  mother's  grief  would  be  to  her. 

"Mr.  Tallis,  I  know  we  must  be  in  great 
danger,"  Ella  said,  as  he  took  her  hand  to  help 
her  to  a  seat.  "  Is  there  any  hope  at  all  ?" 

"Oh  surely,  Miss  Neff !"  he  replied;  "we 
will  not  give  up  hope  yet,  though  we  are  indeed 
in  fearful  peril.  The  greatest  danger  is  that 
we  shall  be  driven  ashore  ;  but  we  are  still  some 
distance  off  the  coast,  and  the  wind  may  change 
or  lull  sufficiently  for  an  anchor  to  hold  when 
we  are  in  water  shallow  enough  for  trying  that 
expedient.  And  even  should  we  be  wrecked, 


314  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

there  will  be  still  a  chance  for  us  in  the  good 
offices  of  the  members  of  the  life-saving  ser- 
vice." 

"Ah,  yes,"  she  said,  a  gleam  of  hope  shining 
in  her  eyes,  "  the  brave  fellows  will  not  leave 
us  to  perish  if  they  can  help  us." 

"  And  we  will  put  our  trust  in  God,"  added 
Mary. 

What  a  day  it  was  to  them  all,  the  storm 
raging  throughout  the  whole  of  it  with  una- 
bated fury,  and  their  hope  of  escape  from  the 
dangers  of  the  deep  growing  less  and  less. 

The  patrolmen  were  out,  and  toward  sundown 
one  of  them  descried  the  masts  of  a  vessel  far 
away  in  the  distance.  It  was  seen  by  others 
also,  for  all  day  long  many  glasses  had  been, 
at  frequent  intervals,  sweeping  the  whole  field 
of  vision  seaward. 

The  news  spread  like  wildfire,  creating  a  great 
excitement  among  the  multitude  of  people  gath- 
ered in  the  hotels  and  boarding-houses,  as  well 
as  among  the  dwellers  by  the  sea,  not  excepting 
the  brave  surfmen  whose  aid  was  likely  to  be  in 
speed}  requisition. 

Hundreds  of  pairs  of  eyes  watched  the  vessel 
battling  with  the  storm,  yet  spite  of  every  ef- 
fort sweeping  nearer  and  nearer  the  dreadful 
breakers.  She  seemed  doomed  to  destruction, 
but  darkness  fell  while  yet  she  was  too  far  awa? 
for  recognition. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  315 

Violet  and  her  companions  had  gazed  upon 
her  with  fast  beating  hearts  from  the  time  of 
her  appearance  until  they  could  no  longer  catch 
the  faintest  outline  of  her  figure  in  the  gather- 
ing gloom. 

Donald  had  nearly  satisfied  himself  of  her 
identity,  but  would  not  for  any  consideration 
have  had  Violet  know  that  he  believed  her  to 
be  the  Curlew.  Even  without  that  confirma- 
tion of  her  fears,  the  anxiety  of  the  poor  child 
was  such  that  it  was  painful  to  witness. 

It  was  indeed  the  Curlew,  and  about  the  time 
ehe  was  descried  by  those  on  land  the  captain 
remarked  aside  to  her  owner,  "  The  Jersey 
shore  is  in  sight,  Mr.  Tallis,  and  nothing  short 
of  a  miracle  can  save  us  from  wreck,  for  we  are 
driving  right  on  to  it  in  spite  of  all  that  can  be 
done.  The  Curlew  is  doomed,  she  has  dragged 
her  anchor,  and  will  be  in  the  breakers  before 
many  hours." 

"  It  will  be  a  heavy  loss  to  me,  captain,"  was 
the  reply,  "  but  if  all  our  lives  are  saved  I  shall 
not  grumble ;  shall  on  the  contrary  be  filled 
with  thankfulness." 

"Well,  sir,  we'll  hope  for  the  best,"  was  the 
cheerful  rejoinder. 

Soon  all  on  board  knew  the  full  extent  of  th« 
dagger,  and  our  young  friends  gave  themselves 
to  solemn  preparation  for  eternity  ;  also,  in  view 
of  the  possibility  of  some  being  saved  while 


316  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

others  were  lost,  made  an  exchange  of  parting 
messages  to  absent  loved  ones. 

It  was  again  a  sleepless  night  to  them  ;  sleep- 
less to  our  Ocean  Beach  friends  at  the  cottage 
also,  and  to  many  others  whose  hearts  were 
filled  with  sympathy  for  those  in  the  doomed 
vessel. 

About  midnight  the  report  of  a  signal  gun  of 
distress  sent  all  rushing  to  the  beach.  She  had 
struck,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  shore  ; 
and  as  the  clouds  broke  away  the  dark  outline 
of  her  hull  could  be  distinctly  discerned  among 
the  foam-tipped  breakers. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  there  was  a  slight- 
lull  in  the  tempest  of  wind,  so  that  it  was  possi- 
ble to  stand  on  the  beach ;  but  so  furious  still 
was  the  action  of  the  waves  that  the  patrolman, 
having  instantly  answered  the  gun  by  burning 
his  signal-light,  and  now  rushing  in  among  his 
mates,  reported  that  the  surf-boat  could  not  be 
used. 

So  the  mortar-car  was  ordered  out. 

There  was  not  an  instant's  delay.  Gallantly 
the  men  bent  to  their  work,  dragged  the  car 
toilsomely  over  the  low  sand-hills  to  a  spot  di- 
rectly opposite  the  wreck,  and  by  the  light  of  a 
lantern  placed  it  and  every  part  of  the  appara- 
tus— the  shot-line  box,  hauling  lines  and  haw- 
ser for  running,  with  the  breeches-buoy  attached 
- — in  position,  put  the  tackles  in  place  ready  fut 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  317 

hauling,  and  with  pick  and  spade  dug  a  trench 
for  the  sand  anchor. 

Each  man  having  his  particular  part  of  the 
work  assigned  him,  and  knowing  exactly  what 
he  was  to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  and  all  acting 
simultaneously,  the  whole  thing  was  accom- 
plished in  a  short  space  of  time  after  reaching 
the  desired  spot. 

An  anxious,  excited  crowd  was  looking  on. 
Apart  from  the  throng  and  a  little  higher  up 
the  beach  were  our  friends,  Fred  in  charge  of 
his  mother  and  Susie,  Donald  with  Violet  under 
his  protection. 

She  had  begged  so  hard  to  come,  "  because  it 
might  be  the  Curlew,  so  how  could  she  stay 
away  ?"  that  he  had  no  heart  to  resist  her  en- 
treaties. And  he  felt  that  she  would  be  safe  in 
his  care,  while  Mrs.  Perkins'  presence  made  it 
perfectly  proper. 

All  being  in  readiness  the  gun  was  fired,  and 
the  shot  flew  through  the  rigging  of  the  ill-fated 


Edward,  now  standing  on  her  deck,  under- 
stood just  what  was  to  be  done,  and  no  tune 
was  lost.  With  a  glad  shout,  heard  by  those 
on  shore,  the  line  was  seized  by  the  sailors  and 
rapidly  hauled  in. 

Ere  long  the  hawser  was  stretched  straight 
and  taut  between  the  beach  and  the  wreck — the 
shore  end  being  raised  several  feet  in  the  air  by 


318  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

the  erection  of  a  wooden  crotch  —  and  the 
breeches-buoy  was  ready  to  be  drawn  to  and  fro 
upon  it. 

"Will  you  try  it  first,  sir?"  the  captain  of 
the  Curlew  said  to  Mr.  Tallis. 

"No,  I  should  be  the  last  man  to  leave  the 
wreck." 

"Go,  go,  Will !"  cried  Edward  imperatively  ; 
"go  and  tell  them  to  send  the  life-car,  for  there 
are  ladies  to  be  saved." 

"  Yes,  go  sir  ;  don't  waste  precious  time  in 
disputing,"  cried  the  captain ;  and  thus  urged 
the  young  man  went. 

He  reached  the  shore  in  safety,  was  welcomed 
with  a  glad  shout,  and  instantly  the  word  cir- 
culated among  the  crowd,  "  The  owner  of  the 
Curlew.  It  is  she.'? 

Violet  had  nearly  fallen  fainting  to  the 
ground,  but  Donald,  supporting  her  with  his 
arm  said  in  her  ear,  "  Courage,  my  brave  lassie  ! 
and  they  shall  all  be  saved." 

"Take  care  of  my  mother  and  sister  for  a 
moment,  Keith  !"  exclaimed  Fred,  and  plung- 
ing into  the  crowd  he  quickly  made  his  way  to 
the  side  of  the  rescued  man. 

"This  way,  if  you  please,"  he  said,  touching 
him  on  the  shoulder;  "a  lady,  Miss  Travilla, 
would  be  glad  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  !"  and  all  dripping  and 
panting  as  he  was,  but  having  already  delivered 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  319 

his  message,  and  seen  the  men  on  the  way  for 
the  safety -car,  he  went  to  her. 

"It  is  Mr.  Tallis,"  Fred  said  ;  "Miss  Tra- 
villa,  my  mother  and  sister,  and  Mr.  Keith," 
for  it  was  too  dark  for  a  distinct  view  of  each 
other's  faces. 

"  My  brother  ?"  faltered  Wet,  holding  out 
her  hand. 

"  Is  uninjured  thus  far,  my  dear  young  lady, 
and  I  trust  will  be  with  you  in  a  few  minutes. 
The  vessel  must,  I  presume,  go  to  pieces  finally, 
but  will  undoubtedly  hold  together  long  enough, 
for  all  on  board  to  be  brought  safely  to  shore." 

Men  from  among  the  crowd  had  volunteer- 
ed  to  assist  in  bringing  the  car,  and  while  await- 
ing its  coming  the  breeches-buoy  travelled  back 
and  forth,  bringing  the  sailors  ;  for  neither  Ed- 
ward nor  Charlie  would  leave  the  ladies,  and 
the  captain  insisted  that  he  should  be  the  last 
man  to  be  rescued. 

From  the  hour  of  their  early  morning  meet- 
ing in  the  saloon  the  Curlew's  passengers  were 
almost  constantly  together,  a  very  sober,  solemn, 
and  nearly  silent  company.  Mary,  in  speaking 
of  it  afterward,  said  she  felt  as  if  she  were  at- 
tending her  own  funeral  and  listening  to  the 
sighs  and  sobs  of  her  bereaved  friends. 

"And  yet,"  she  added  with  a  bright,  glad 
gmile,  "  it  was  not  all  saduess  and  gloom  ;  for 
the  consolations  of  God  were  not  small  with 


320  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

me,  and  the  thought  of  soon  being  with  Christ 
in  glory  was  at  times  very  sweet." 

When  the  vessel  struck,  Charlie  started  up 
with  a  sharp  cry,  "  We  are  lost !" 

Then  all  immediately  fell  on  their  knees 
while  Edward  poured  out  a  fervent  prayer, 
that  they  might  be  saved  from  a  watery  grave, 
if  such  were  the  will  of  God,  if  not,  prepared  for 
death  and  a  glorious  immortality ;  adding  a 
final  petition  for  the  dear  ones  who  would  grieve 
for  their  loss. 

Just  as  they  rose  from  their  knees  the  signal 
gun  was  fired. 

Then  the  captain  came  down  the  companion- 
way  and  looking  in  upon  them,  said.  "Don't 
despair  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  things  are  not 
quite  so  bad  as  they  might  be  ;  we  have  ground- 
ed very  near  the  shore  and  a  life-saving  station, 
and  my  signal  gun  was  immediately  replied  to 
by  the  patrolman  with  his  red  signal  light.  So 
we  may  feel  assured  that  prompt  and  efficient 
help  is  near  at  hand." 

Hope  revived  in  their  breasts,  as  they  listen- 
ed ;  then  Will  Tallis  and  Edward  ventured  up- 
on deck,  leaving  the  girls  in  Charlie's  charge. 

The  warning  lights  on  shore  gave  to  the  anx- 
ious watchers  on  the  deck  an  inkling  of  what 
was  being  done  for  their  relief,  and  when  the 
shot  was  fired  from  the  mortar  and  came  whiz 
sing  through  the  rigging,  Edward  cried  out  in 


ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD.  331 

delight.  "  The  line,  the  line  !  Now  we  shall 
be  helped  ashore !" 

As  the  vessel  was  now  without  motion,  save  a 
shiver  as  now  and  again  a  great  wave  struck 
her,  the  girls  were  pretty  comfortable  and  in  no 
immediate  danger,  and  as  they  urged  it,  Charlie, 
too,  at  length  ventured  upon  deck. 

He  soon  returned  with  an  encouraging  report, 
the  better  understood  by  the  girls  because  of 
their  late  visit  to  the  life-saving  station.  "  The 
sailors  were  hauling  in  the  line,"  he  said,  and 
soon  the  work  of  transporting  them  all  to  land 
would  begin. 

Amy  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  a  ride  in 
the  life-car,  yet,  as  the  surfman  had  predicted, 
felt  that  even  that  would  be  far  preferable  to 
drowning. 

The  next  report  brought  them  was  of  Mr. 
Tallis's  safe  landing,  and  the  next  that  the  life- 
car  waited  for  them. 

Edward,  the  captain,  and  two  sailors  helped 
Mary  and  Ella  across  the  wind-pwept  deck  and 
into  the  car,  Charlie  and  anocher  sailor  fol- 
lowing with  Amy. 

They  put  her  in  after  the  other  two  and 
Charlie  stepped  in  next,  calling  to  Edward  to 
come  also. 

"  No,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "  I  go  by  the 
breeches-buoy." 

The  sliding  door  was  hastily  shut,  and  Amy 


322  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

gasped  for  breath  as  she  felt  the  car  gliding 
swiftly  along  the  hawser,  while  the  great  waves 
dashed  over  it,  rocking  it  from  side  to  side. 

Charlie's  arm  was  round  her,  holding  her 
close,  but  she  grew  deathly  sick  and  fainted 
quite  away. 

The  minutes  seemed  hours,  but  at  last  they 
heard,  above  the  thunder  of  the  breaking  waves, 
a  great  shout,  and  at  the  same  instant  felt  the 
car  grate  upon  the  sand. 

The  door  was  pushed  open,  Charlie,  the  near- 
est to  it,  stepped  out,  drew  Amy  after  him, 
apparently  more  dead  than  alive,  and  leaving  it 
to  others  to  assist  Mary  and  Ella,  bore  her  in 
his  arms,  in  almost  frantic  haste,  to  the  nearest 
house. 

Mary  was  in  Vi's  arms  almost  before  she  knew 
that  she  had  actually  reached  shore  ;  Vi  kiss- 
ing her  with  tears  and  sobs,  and  crying,  "Ed- 
ward, Edward,  where  is  he  ?" 

"Coming,"  Mary  said,  "the  brave,  generous 
fellow  would  see  us  all  safe  first." 

It  was  not  long  now  till  Violet's  anxiety  was 
fully  relieved  and  her  heart  sending  up  glad 
thanksgivings  as  she  found  herself  clasped  to 
her  brother's  breast,  all  dripping  wet  though  he 
was. 

And  great  was  the  joy  of  the  young  owner  of 
the  Curlew  when  he  learned  that  though  she 
was  a  total  wreck,  not  a  single  soul  had  been 
lost  in  her. 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

"Those  that  he  loved  so  long  and  sees  no  more, 
Loved  and  still  loves,— not  dead,  but  gone  before,-. 
He  gathers  round  him." 

— Rogers. 

THE  morning  was  but  dull  and  dreary,  foi 
though  the  storm  had  spent  itself,  the  sky  was 
obscured  with  clouds  and  the  sea  still  wrought 
tempestuously ;  but  its  sullen  roar  may,  per- 
chance, have  been  as  favorable  to  the  prolonged 
slumbers  of  our  worn-out  friends,  whom  the 
tempest  had  robbed  of  so  many  hours  of  their 
accustomed  sleep,  as  the  lack  of  brightness  in 
the  sky  and  atmosphere. 

However  that  may  have  been,  most  of  them, 
retiring  about  dawn  of  day,  slept  on  till  noon, 
or  near  it. 

In  Mrs.  Travilla's  cottage  the  family  gathered 
round  the  breakfast  table  at  the  usual  hour. 

The  meal  was  nearly  concluded  when  a  ser- 
vant brought  in  the  morning  paper  and  handed 
it  to  Mr.  Dinsmore. 

"  I  fear  that  brings  news  of  many  disasters 
caused  by  the  storm,  especially  on  the  Atlantic 
seaboard,"  remarked  his  daughter  as  he  took 
it  up. 


324  ELSIE'S   WIDOWHOOD. 

"  Altogether  likely,"  was  his  rejoinder. 
Then  as  he  ran  his  eye  down  the  long  list  ol 
casualties,  "  Why,  what  is  this  ?"  he  exclaimed, 
and  went  on  to  read  aloud. 

"  Went  ashore  last  night  at  Ocean  Beach,  the 
Curlew,  a  pleasure  yacht  belonging  to  W.  V. 
Tallis ;  Captain  Collins.  She  is  a  total  wreck, 
but  no  lives  were  lost,  passengers  and  crew  be- 
ing  taken  off  by  the  men  of  Life-Saying  Station 
No.  — .  List  of  passengers,  Mr.  W.  V.  Tallis, 
Mr.  Edward  Travilla,  Mr.  Charles  Perrine,  Miss 
Mary  Keith,  Miss  Amy  Fletcher,  and  Miss  Ella 
Neff." 

There  was  a  moment  of  astonished  silence, 
then  "Violet!"  gasped  the  mother,  turning 
deathly  pale. 

"  She  was  evidently  not  on  board,"  Mr.  Dins- 
more  hastened  to  reply,  "  or  else  her  name  wa$ 
carelessly  omitted  in  the  list,  for  it  says  dis- 
tinctly, '  Xo  lives  were  lost.' " 

"I  hope  you  are  right,  Horace,"  Mrs.  Conlj 
remarked,  "  but  if  she  were  my  child  I  shouldn't 
have  any  peace  till  I  knew  all  about  it." 

"There  isn't  the  least  probability  that  if  a 
life  had  been  lost  the  reporter  would  have  failed 
to  say  so,"  returned  Mr.  Dinsmore  with  some 
severity  of  tone. 

"  Of  course  you  are  in  the  right,  Horace,  you 

are,"  she  said,  bridling. 
.Veil,"  remarked  Virginia,  "  I'm  astonished, 


ELSIES  WIDOWHOOD.  335 

I  must  own,  that  such  pattern  good  children 
should  go  off  on  such  an  expedition  without  so 
much  as  saying  by  your  leave  to  either  mother 
or  guardian." 

"I  have  just  said  that  I  am  morally  certain 
Violet  did  not  go,"  said  Mr.  Dinsmore. 

"And  I  do  not  blame  Edward  that  he  did," 
added  the  mother  in  her  sweet,  gentle  tones; 
"  he  is  old  enough  now  to  decide  such  matters 
for  himself  in  the  absence  of  his  natural  guar- 
dians. Also  he  knows  me  well  enough  to  judge 
pretty  correctly  whether  I  would  approve  or  not, 
and  I  should  not  have  objected  had  I  been 
there." 

"Shall  we  drive  over  and  see  about  the  chil- 
dren?" asked  her  father. 

"  Yes,  papa,  if  you  please,  and  let  us  start  as 
soon  as  the  necessary  arrangements  can  be 
made." 

Violet  had  scarcely  completed  her  morning 
toilet,  though  it  was  a  little  past  noon,  when 
glancing  from  the  window  she  saw  a  carriage 
at  the  gate  and  her  grandfather  in  the  act  of 
assisting  her  mother  to  alight  from  it. 

With  a  low,  joyous  exclamation,  she  flew  to 
meet  and  welcome  them. 

"  Mamma,  mamma  !  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad 
you  have  come!" 

"  My  darling,  my  darling!  Thank  God  that 
I  have  you  safe  in  my  arms!"  the  mother  said, 


326  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

holding  her  close  with  kisses  and  tears.  "  What 
is  this  I  hear  of  danger  and  shipwreck?" 

"It  is  a  long  story,  mamma;  but  we  are  all 
safe.  Edward,  Charlie,  and  the  girls  are  still 
sleeping,  I  believe,  for  they  were  worn  out  with 
anxiety  and  the  loss  of  two  nights'  rest." 

"  And  you,  dear  child?" 

"  Was  not  with  them,  but  of  course  slept  but 
little  last  night — indeed  not  at  all  until  after 
daybreak,  when  they  were  all  safe  on  shore — and 
have  only  just  risen." 

"  Then  we  will  hear  the  story  after  you  have 
breakfasted,"  her  grandfather  said. 

They  did  not  get  the  whole  of  it,  however, 
until  Edward  joined  them,  an  hour  or  two  later. 
It  was  to  them  a  deeply  interesting  and  thrill- 
ing account  that  he  gave.  He  had  also  much  to 
say  in  Violet's  praise,  but  was  relieved  and  grati- 
fied to  learn  that  neither  mother  nor  grand- 
father blamed  him  for  the  course  he  had  taken. 
He  brought  in  his  friend  Tallis  and  intro- 
duced him,  and  was  glad  to  see  that  the  impres- 
sion on  both  sides  was  favorable. 

Edward  had  already  urged  Tallis  to  pay  him 
a  visit,  and  Mr.  Dinsmore  and  Elsie  repeated 
the  invitation.  But  the  young  man  declined  it 
for  the  present,  on  the  plea  that  the  loss  of  his 
yessel  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  give  his 
attention  to  some  pressing  business  matters. 

Elsie  proposed  taking  her  son  and  daughter 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  337 

home  with  her,  and  they  were  nothing  loath. 
She  would  have  had  all  the  rest  of  the  young 
party  come  at  once  to  her  cottage  and  remain  as 
long  as  they  found  it  agreeable  to  do  so,  but  all 
^declined  with  thanks  however,  except  Donald, 
'Mary  and  Charlie,  who  promised  to  come  in  a 
few  days.  Amy  was  not  quite  able  to  travel; 
they  would  stay  with  her  until  she  was  suffi- 
ciently recruited  to  undertake  the  journey  to 
her  own  home.  Charlie  would  see  her  and  Ella 
safely  there,  and  follow  Mary  to  the  cottage 
home  of  the  Travillas. 

Before  leaving  Ocean  Beach,  Elsie  and  her 
father  visited  the  life-saving  station,  and  the 
latter  insisted  upon  bestowing  a  generous  reward 
upon  each  of  the  brave  surfmen.  Also  he  con- 
tributed largely  to  the  making  good  their  losses 
to  the  poor  shipwrecked  sailors. 

Most  joyously  was  the  return  of  Edward  and 
Violet  welcomed  by  grandmother,  brothers  and 
sisters.  Edward  was  the  hero  of  the  hour,  es- 
pecially with  Harold  and  Herbert,  who  in  fact 
quite  envied  him  his  adventure  now  that  it  was 
safely  over. 

Violet  found  home  and  its  beloved  occupants 
dearer  and  more  delightful  than  ever.  The 
presence  there  of  her  aunt  and  cousin  seemed 
the  only  drawback  upon  her  felicity;  yet  that 
occasionally  proved  a  serious  one  to  both  herself 
and  "  Cousin  Donald,"  with  whom  Virginia  waf 
determined  to  get  up  a  flirtation. 


328  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

He  did  not  admire  her  and  would  not  fall  in 
with  her  plans,  perceiving  which  she  turned 
against  him,  became  his  bitter  foe,  and  made 
him  and  Violet  both  uncomfortable  by  sly  hints 
that  he  was  seeking  her ;  and  that  simply  be- 
cause she  was  an  heiress. 

Old  Mr.  Dinsmore  had  gone  to  visit  his 
daughter  Adeline  and  most  sincerely  did  Violet 
Wish  that  "  Aunt  Louise"  and  Virginia  would 
follow. 

Mrs.  Travilla  was,  as  we  have  said,  living  a 
very  retired  life,  not  mingling  in  general  society 
at  all,  but  an  old  friend  of  her  husband  and 
father,  who  had  been  a  frequent  and  welcome 
guest  at  the  Oaks  and  Ion,  had  taken  up  his 
temporary  residence  at  a  hotel  near  by,  and  now 
and  then  joined  their  party  on  the  beach  or 
dropped  in  at  the  cottage  for  a  friendly  chat 
With  Mr.  Dinsmore. 

Sometimes  Mrs.  Travilla  was  present  and  took 
part  in  the  conversation;  once  or  twice  it  had 
happened  that  they  had  been  alone  together  for 
a  few  moments.  She  neither  avoided  inter- 
course with  the  gentleman  nor  sought  it;  though 
he  was  a  widower  and  much  admired  by  many 
of  her  sex. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Conly  and  Virginia  were  the 
only  persons  who  had  any  sinister  thoughts  in 
connection  with  the  matter;  but  they,  after  the 
manner  of  the  human  race,  judged  others  by 
themselves. 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  339 

One  clay  Violet  accidentally  overheard  a  little 
talk  between  them  that  struck  her  first  with 
indignation  and  astonishment,  then  with  grief 
and  dismay. 

"  What  brings  Mr.  Ford  here,  do  you  suppose, 
mamma?"  inquired  Virginia,  in  a  sneering  tone. 

"What  a  question,  Virginia,  for  a  girl  of 
your  sense!"  replied  her  mother,  "  he's  courting 
Elsie,  of  course.  Isn't  she  a  rich  and  beautiful 
widow?  I  had  almost  added  young,  for  she 
really  looks  hardly  older  than  her  eldest  daugh- 
ter." 

"Well,  do  you  think  he'll  succeed?" 

"  Yes,  I  do;  sooner  or  later.  He  is  certainly 
a  very  attractive  man,  and  she  can't  be  expected 
to  live  single  all  the  rest  of  her  days.  But  what 
a  foolish  will  that  was  of  Travilla's — leaving 
everything  in  her  hands!" 

"  Why,  mamma?" 

"  Because  Ford  may  get  it  all  into  his  posses- 
sion and  make  way  with  it  by  some  rash  specu- 
lation. Men  often  do  those  things." 

Violet  was  alone  in  a  little  summer-house  in 
the  garden,  back  of  the  cottage,  with  a  book. 
She  had  been  very  intent  upon  it  until  roused 
by  the  sound  of  the  voices  of  her  aunt  and 
cousin,  who  had  been  pacing  up  and  down  the 
walk  and  now  paused  for  an  instant  close  to  her, 
though  a  thick  growth  of  vines  hid  her  from 
sight. 


330  ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD. 

They  moyed  on  with  Mrs.  Conly's  last  word, 
and  the  young  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  cheeks 
aflame,  her  eyes  glittering,  her  small  hand 
clenched  till  the  nails  sank  into  the  soft  flesh. 
"How  dare  they  talk  so  of  mamma!  and  papa 
too,  dear,  dear  papa!"  she  exclaimed  half  aloud; 
then  her  anger  and  grief  found  vent  in  a  hurst 
of  bitter  weeping  as  she  cast  herself  down  upon 
the  seat  from  which  she  had  risen,  and  bowed 
her  head  upon  her  hands. 

The  storm  of  feeling  was  so  violent  that  she  did 
not  hear  a  light,  approaching  footstep,  did  not 
know  that  any  one  was  near  until  she  felt  her- 
self taken  into  loving  arms  that  clasped  her 
close,  while  her  mamma's  sweet  voice  asked  in 
tenderest  tones,  "my  poor  darling,  what  can 
have  caused  you  such  distress?" 

"  Mamn/a,  mamma,  don't  ask  me !  please 
don't  ask  me  !"  she  cried,  hiding  her  blushing, 
tearful  face  on  her  mother's  bosom. 

"  Has  my  dear  Vi  then  secrets  from  her 
mother  ?"  Elsie  asked  in  tones  of  half  reproach- 
ful tenderness. 

"  Only  because  it  would  distress  you  to  know, 
dearest  mamma.  Oh  I  could  not  bear  to  hurt 
you  so  !"  sobbed  the  poor  girl. 

"Still  tell  me,  dearest "  urged  the  mother. 
"  Nothing  could  hurt  me  so  sorely  as  the  loss  of 
my  child's  confidence." 

^Then  mamma,  I  will  ;  but  oh  don't  think 
that  I  believe  one  word  of  it  all.'*  Then  with 


ELSIE'S  WIDOWHOOD.  331 

a  little  hesitation.  "I  think  mamma,  that  1 
am  not  doing  wrong  to  tell  you,  though  the 
words  were  not  meant  for  my  ear?" 

"I  think  not,  my  dear  child,  since  it  seems 
it  is  something  that  concerns  both  you  and  me." 

The  short  colloquy  had  burnt  itself  into 
Violet's  brain  and  she  repeated  it  verbatim. 

It  caused  her  loved  listener  a  sharper  pang 
than  she  knew  or  supposed.  Elsie  was  deeply 
hurt  and  for  a  moment  her  indignation  waxed 
hot  against  her  ungrateful,  heartless  relations. 

Then  her  heart  sent  up  a  strong  cry  for  help 
to  forgive  even  as  she  would  be  forgiven. 

But  she  must  comfort  Vi,  and  how  vividly 
at  this  moment  did  memory  recall  a  little  scene 
in  her  own  early  childhood  when  she  was  in  like 
sore  distress  from  a  similar  fear,  roused  in  very 
nearly  the  same  manner  ;  and  her  father  com- 
forted her. 

"  Vi,  darling,"  she  said  in  quivering  tones,  and 
with  a  tender  caress,  "it  is  altogether  a  mistake. 
And  you  need  never  fear  anything  of  the  kind. 
Your  beloved  father  is  no  more  dead  to  me  than 
though  he  were  but  in  the  next  room.  His 
place  is  not  now — can  never  be,  vacant  in  either 
my  home  or  my  heart.  "  We  are  separated  for 
time  by  'the  stream — the  narrow  stream  of 
death,'  but  when  I,  too,  have  crossed  it,  we 
shall  be  together,  never  to  part  again." 

THE   END. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


LU-uiU. 


IOCT 
ou- 


' 

0 


8 

k90 


DATE 


AUG  05 
x^/ 

DUE  3  WEE 


DATE  RECEIVED 


SEP  lo  ,99 


10M-11-50(2555)470 


JENT 

1997 

S  FROM 


REMINGTON  RAND  -  20 


PS 

1672 


